


Long Lost

by MuseofWriting



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe, Angst, Balmeran Hunk, Canonical Character Death, Dancing, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Olkari Pidge, dads of marmora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofWriting/pseuds/MuseofWriting
Summary: They've all watched the world end before their eyes. The Paladins of Voltron are united slowly, unwilling to trust one another in a universe that has tried to take everything from them.An AU where all the Paladins except for Shiro are a different species of alien





	1. The Grave Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be upfront: this fic does not have a final destination or a plan. It will mostly be a bunch of more-or-less self-contained chapters set within this AU that I will add to when I feel like it. They will jump around in time and between characters. I make no promises about how frequently this will update, only that I am very excited about the backstories I'm building for the different Paladins. My priority is still working on Written in Sand. So sit back and enjoy some random alien AU stories if that's your thing; if you'd rather something with a more coherent plot then go forth and find other awesome fics to read.
> 
>  **Warning:** This first chapter is... it's a lot. Destruction of Altea and all that. Other chapters will be much happier and kinder.

            The first grave dance he saw was when Grandfather Sanor died. He’d been barely three or four years old, dressed in flowing blue, white, and gold robes of Altean royal finery. They’d made him his first cape, special for the occasion, dark blue and velvety. He kept flicking it dramatically over his shoulder until his nurse scolded him, sitting him down to brush his hair and ordering him brusquely to keep it neat. She pulled the comb sharply through the white strands, already growing long enough to cover the tips of his ears and stick to the back of his neck on the days when the stars burned hot in the sky. He wanted it to be as long as Allura’s, dropping in heavy, graceful waves down to her shoulders. She would pull playfully at the short little strands on his head and tease him about being born bald as an egg.

            This quintant, though, she stood somberly by him, hands folded quietly in front of the deep blue pleats of her dress. When the dancing started, he leaned over to whisper to her in confusion. Wasn’t this supposed to be a sad event? Why were there people dancing like it was a party or playtime? She shushed him and told him to just follow along. The dance was slow and stately. His clumsy little legs and arms tried unsuccessfully to mimic Allura’s elegant gestures.

            Afterward, he had asked his mother about it, and she had explained. It was an old Altean tradition. Words are not enough to honor and celebrate an entire person, an entire life lived and ended, she said. Words are too small. The tongue is just one muscle. How could it say more than every muscle in the body? So instead of speeches or songs, Alteans danced. They danced to celebrate, they danced to play, and they danced to mourn. Dance for the living, dance for the dead.

            He’d taken lessons, as any good Prince of Altea should. The stern-faced dance teacher prodded his feet and elbows into graceful lines and fluid movements until his technique excelled. He caught up with Allura, and then he surpassed her. When he was brought to attend Lord Lulan’s funeral two years later, he performed the grave dance perfectly. He lingered after the ceremony concluded, dancing still in the neatly trimmed grass between the memorial pillars, rising like trees around him. There was something in the air of the graveyard, something peaceful and quietly inspiring. His mother found him there, making slow turns weaving around the pillars. She joined him silently, moving with him until the dance felt finished.

            The technique came from lessons and practice, but it was his mother that taught him how to translate a swell of joy into the flip of a leg, a tremble of fear into the flitting twirls of his hand, and the crumbling of his heart into a slow and graceful turn of his head. She told him to remember that nothing could stay hidden or denied when he danced. Everything he thought and felt was turned inside out and carved into the fabric of the world by the quick spinning steps of his feet. Dance for the living, dance for the dead.

            He danced at parties and functions, entertaining diplomats from throughout the universe. He met the Paladins of Voltron and spun a spirited number with the Red Paladin, a Kulnir with a playful glint in their eye. He politely waltzed his way through a conversation with an Olkari in which he did not understand a single word. He danced his heart out to a pretty Altean girl named Salur who he never stood a chance with, regardless of the gold circlet around his long white hair. He and Allura danced, spinning one another for joy at the prospect of a trip to a new planet. He danced in great halls and small bedrooms, on rickety stairs and gardens, but the grave dance was always special. No other time did the movements come so naturally and instinctively, his body moving almost of its own volition, breathing and speaking for the dead.

            He was only fourteen when things started to change. The death of the Green Paladin shocked Altea to its core. Murdered in bed, throat slit, as barbarous and brutal and underhanded as it could get. The next Green Paladin had not expected to be handed the bayard for years to come. They lived in a largely peaceful era. No one could understand what had happened or why. It was only later that they would all realize Green must have uncovered Zarkon’s plans. Lance danced at Green’s funeral, a bold dance for intelligence and valor. He found the Kulnir after the ceremony was over and sat in the graveyard with them until it got dark, cradling their head in his lap as they wept silently and ceaselessly.

            The war, when it came, did not last long. The Galra broke into civil war almost overnight. Zarkon took the Black Lion back home to restore order. Three of the other lions – Red, Yellow, and Green – responded to a distress signal in a far corner of the universe. Lance and Allura went with Zarkon’s half-Altean son, an eerily silent boy named Lotor, to dance together in the graveyard. They danced in prayer for the living, and in grief for the dead. Lotor danced expertly but soullessly, his style aggressive and grounded. When they were done, he said nothing, only turned and left, Allura and Lance trailing behind him.

            It wasn’t until Zarkon returned a triumphant emperor, the ruler and subjugator of all the Galra, that King Alfor and the Paladins realized their mistake. By then, though, it was too late. The other three lions had gone missing and were not responding to calls for aid. With the force of the Galra military behind him and the Black Lion under his control, Zarkon shredded Altea’s defenses within a month. With great reluctance, King Alfor took Lotor as a hostage to use as leverage against Zarkon. He tried to treat him gently, simply locking him in one of the Castle’s spare rooms with a guard outside. Lotor broke through the door and stabbed the guard through the eye with a knife, stole an escape pod, and joined his father in the Galra flagship.

            The Blue Paladin did what she could, but by herself against the Black Lion, all she could manage was holding off complete destruction. With Altea’s ships burning in the air around them, King Alfor took Lance and his mother to a small cloaked escape vessel and told them to flee. The Altean crew was grim faced as they prepared to dodge through Zarkon’s blockade unseen. Lance hugged his sister tightly and they promised they would see each other soon before he stepped off the surface of his planet for the last time. He had just turned sixteen.

            Lance and his mother watched the destruction of Altea from afar, eyes fixed blank and unseeing on a screen inexorably unfolding a nightmare that couldn’t possibly be real. No one danced for the dead that quintant. No one did anything at all.

            The other Paladins eventually returned, having escaped Zarkon’s trap and rescued their lions from the Galra who tried to steal them, but it was too late. Alfor managed to recapture the Black Lion, but it was too late. Planets throughout the universe heard of Zarkon’s hunger for power and his insanity, but it was too late. The Galra had destroyed Altea and torn Voltron apart.

            Lance would only hear myths about how that part of the story ended. He didn’t get to see it himself. King Alfor asked him and his mother to seal themselves in cryopods, to stay in stasis until the Paladins came to wake them up. It would conceal their quintessence, hiding them from the Galra until they were ready to defend themselves and strike back. He was hiding the lions, he said, just long enough to let Zarkon stop looking, just enough time for the Paladins to heal and rest and regroup. They’d all separated to different planets, where they would hide in the local population until they received a signal it was safe to return. Lance danced in the cramped halls of the ship before shutting himself into a pod. He could not dance his grief for Altea, not yet. It was too big even for every muscle in his body. But he could dance for fear and for dreams. He stretched his long limbs as far as he could, reaching for the future, until he felt he could almost brush it with his fingertips. He kissed his mother on the cheek and climbed inside a pod.

            When he woke up, the world was broken. The ship had long gone dark and silent, half its roof caved in, the dust-covered broken walls rising jagged and unnatural in the sunlight that filtered down into the hall. The rebels that woke him – a motley group of aliens that stared at him in wonder – were dirty and ragged, their clothes ripped, their blasters scratched and barely functional. They watched wide-eyed as he stumbled from his pod, coughing in the dust he stirred up, blinking and frowning in confusion. There was no Paladin in their white armor waiting to take him to the base of the surviving Alteans. There were no Paladins, no Voltron, and no surviving Alteans at all.

            Not even the destruction of Altea could have prepared him for the sight of the pod next to him, breached and broken by the ceiling’s collapse, still just functional enough to continue to hold the body inside it in stasis, unconscious and helplessly unaware of her own demise as she suffocated. It was only sheer luck that the fallen ceiling had missed his pod entirely. His mother’s body was mockingly preserved by the pod, though her skin had sunken and dried out. He broke through the pod’s front with his fists, barely aware of the glass biting into his skin and the blood running down his fingers. He dragged her out, cradling her in his arms, dropping to his knees and curling around her body, howling to the sky and every god he’d ever heard of. He didn’t even know how long she had been dead.

            The rebels backed out of the room to give him space. He set his mother carefully on the floor, brushing the dry white hair back from her mummified face. Then he performed the longest and most difficult grave dance he would ever do.

            It was a tortured, twisted, writhing kind of dance, his muscles clenching and wringing the grief out of him, a far, far cry from the normal stately elegance of his steps. He danced his childhood, from his first steps to his first dance lesson. He danced evening picnics in the fields outside the Castle of Lions, and his mother showing him how to pin his hair up in a bun like hers. He spun his way through family dinners and public parties. He slid and swept the stories his mother told him and Allura at night. He kicked long mornings of lessons and leapt in aborted, bent jumps through their excursions to the swimming hole in the river when the stars grew too hot in the sky. He danced their dance lessons, slowly and deliberately, every step he took agony. He struggled to breathe and his muscles, fresh from a too-long sojourn in the pod, started to burn and tremble in protest. He danced destruction and escape. He danced his grief until he fell to the floor.

            With a deep, shuddering breath, he began to roll, to kick and kneel and twist and bend across the ground, dancing for his father, who must be 10,000 years dead. He dragged his legs through the dust in the shape of his kind smile and his stern frown. He knelt and reached for the sky, bending backward in the wind of his admiration for his father’s leadership and studied fairness. He rolled through summer nights spent pointing out the stars and winter nights learning to read twelve different languages from across the universe.

            By the time he got to Allura, he couldn’t stand or even roll anymore. Tears burned in tracks down his cheeks and his chest was heaving with the effort to breathe. So he sat, legs bent sideways underneath him, and drew his love in the air with just his hands. He fluttered her teasing and carved her solemn intelligence through the beams of sunlight. He swung his arm and clenched it inward, his torso curving in the memory of her laugh. He danced long, competitive lessons and the nights where he would curl up next to her and they’d whisper secrets their parents must never know. He drew the memory of her face and closed his eyes to fix it in his mind forever. He ended down, collapsed over his knees, his forehead pressed against the floor and his arms wrapped around his head. His entire body trembled with the exhaustion and the grief, but the tears came anyway. He heaved with sobs, an unmoving heap on the floor. When the tears were spent and he was, finally, quiet and still, he stayed there, wondering what cruel god had kept him alive just to see a world without hope, where everything and everyone he loved was so long dead they were little more than myths.

            The rebels eventually came back, approaching him hesitantly, and pulled him to his feet. He followed them dully, mechanically. They took him back to the ship they had crashed in. They gave him food and a place to sleep and he took it unquestioningly. One of them started to speak of the Galra, but the others quickly hushed him. Lance said nothing. Words were far too small.

            The next day, rested and calmer, he silently joined them in repairing the ship. They pressed him for nothing and he asked for nothing. His words came back slowly, hesitantly, over the time they took to repair the ship. It was best to say mundane things at first, asking quiet questions about the food or requesting someone pass him a wrench. Only the night before they finally left did he finally ask to hear about the Galra. The tale the rebels told chilled him to his bones. Zarkon’s domination was all but complete.

            When they were done, he took a knife and walked to the edge of the camp. He gathered his long white hair into a ponytail, pulled it taut, and yanked the knife through it. The strands fell loose about his head, shorter than they had been since he was a small child. He looked at the handful of hair in his hand for a long moment, and then simply let it fall, its loose strands scattering across the grass, glowing in the moonlight.

            “Prince Lance?” one of the rebels queried uncertainly. “Are you alright?” Lance rubbed a hand across his head. He’d have to get someone else to cut it closer and clean it up, but this would do for now.

            “Only Altean nobles and royalty wear their hair long,” he said. “And there are no more Alteans. I'm not the prince of anything now.”

            He didn’t realize until they had gotten him back to their base – concealed in the tunnels of a mountainous planet named Ripeer – that they were hoping he would be able to find the lions, if they still existed at all. He had to disappoint them. King Alfor had linked his quintessence to the lions, but he had not passed that bond to Lance. He was no more useful than just another rebel soldier. He could see the disappointment that veiled their eyes, but they stuck on regretful smiles and hopeful determination and told him they were honored to have him aboard nevertheless. Dancing was not the only skill he had learned as a prince. The blasters were new, slimmer and more powerful, but his aim was as precise and deadly as it ever was.

            The rebel leader was a tall, mottled blue and brown alien with four arms and seven long, skinny fingers on each hand. Their name was Pa'lam. They gave Lance an awkward bow, apologizing for being unaccustomed to hosting royalty. Lance stopped them. He was there to be a soldier, to strike back at the Galra and avenge Altea in any small way he could. He had no planet and no people, no one to command. They gained nothing by treating him like a prince. Pa'lam still ordered one of the rebels to escort him to one of the best rooms in the base.

            They led him through the twisting dark tunnels, illuminated by Shovin biolume flowers growing out of the crevices in the rocks. They passed dozens of different aliens, practically no two of exactly the same species. Lance held his chin high, suddenly self-conscious of the glowing marks on his cheeks and his snow-white hair. He fought the urge to shapeshift into something less conspicuous as he caught people staring and whispering to each other behind many-colored hands. The wind from the draft blowing through the tunnels kissed the back of his exposed neck.

            The room they brought him to had a high vaulted ceiling and a wide, soft bed. In the bathroom, water ran out of a hidden spout, artfully designed to resemble a waterfall. Hot springs running beneath the mountain made the floor pleasantly warm beneath Lance’s feet. He turned to the rebel and thanked him. As he turned to go, Lance caught his elbow, asking him one question before he lost his nerve: did the rebels have a place for their dead?

            The graveyard was mostly empty of actual bodies. Not every alien race buried the bodies of their dead, and even among those that did, most of the rebels were lost to explosions and battles aboard Galra ships and planets. Still, the wide underground chamber with its motley combination of pillars and cairns and flowers and trees and statues and all the many ways people memorialized their dead had the same quiet, calm atmosphere of the graveyard back on Altea. Respect and grief and love left their mark on the place, and Lance felt his fingers twitch, ready to dance.

            He could not dance his sorrow for Altea. That would always be too big for him. Nor was he ready to dance his grief for those close to him – Salur, the beautiful daughter of the lord of the Enriga province, or Piro, his childhood best friend, or Pollaf, the young engineer who had snuck him out from under his parents’ noses to teach him how to pilot a ship at the age of nine, or Coran, the royal advisor who had always seemed more like a loving uncle than anything else. The grave dance for Allura and his parents had been like holding his own heart in his hand, watching it beat away, waiting each moment for it to stop and the pain to cease. He could not face that kind of grief just yet.

            He remembered the face of a lady who came to the Castle of Lions each winter. He no longer remembered her name, if he had ever known it at all, but she had bright red cheek marks and tightly curled red hair that fell to her chin, just long enough to show she was noble. Lance could dance for her.

            It started slow and uncertain, but the quiet inspiration and attentiveness of the graveyard soon sent him spinning in tight circles, dipping and diving through the air in short, curved jumps. As he danced, he felt a tiny piece of the knot of grief inside his chest loosen. He could do this, he thought. He could never dance for all of Altea. But he could dance for one person, each day. He would run out of faces, eventually, but that wouldn’t stop him. Even if he didn’t know who he was doing it for, he would dance their memories. Every alien race memorialized their dead in some way. Wherever he went, he could find a graveyard, and dance. Dance for the living, dance for the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the sad dancing boy
> 
> Please leave comments, they make my day!


	2. Little Star-Crossed Kit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I had to split this chapter because it got absolutely ridiculously long - good news is, I already have a decently large chunk of the next one written

            _He’s my age,_ Keith thought, grateful for the mask that hid his wide-eyed staring. _He’s only my age_.

            The solemn-faced little Altean boy stood tall and proud, his chin tilted imperiously upward, his bright blue eyes and cheek marks standing out brilliantly against his dark brown skin. His shock of white hair was cut close to head, tufting in the back and ending in fluffy wisps just below the base of his skull. He was dressed in some kind of blue tunic edged in gold, cinched at the center with a black belt. A white cloak was fastened with a round gold broach on his right shoulder, draping across him regally. Keith was suddenly keenly aware that the entire Blade of Marmora was dressed in full masked battle armor. Every single member present on the base was there, arrayed about the room, swords strapped across their backs and hoods drawn up over their glowing nanotech masks. The other rebels – the drifters, as the Blade called them – were wearing the same jumble of scavenged armor and ragged clothes Keith had always seen them in, but there in the center of it all stood the Altean prince, unprotected and unfazed, barely more than a child. The rebels clumped warily near the door, their eyes darting across the unmoving Blades lining the walls of the room and glancing to the shivering hologram of their symbol hanging over their heads. Kolivan stood at the end of the room, at the top of a few shallow steps, his mask retracted, Antok and Rivan on either side. The Altean prince stood at the bottom of the stairs, just a hint of wariness in his refracted blue eyes as Kolivan descended to kneel in front of him.

            “Prince Lance of Altea,” he said. “The Blade of Marmora offers our deepest condolences for the destruction of Altea and the loss of your family. I am pleased that it spared you.” He paused, and Keith’s ears twitched, pushing against the stretchy fabric of the mask. Kolivan never hesitated. “I cannot imagine the pain you have endured. You are an example of perseverance and courage to all of us.” He stood back up. A muscle tightened in Prince Lance’s jaw. “The fact that you are still alive is nothing short of a miracle, and we are honored to have you fighting with us. I wish you to know, we may bear the face of your enemy, but not all Galra are like Zarkon. The Blade’s history is almost as long as the Empire’s. We stand against Zarkon’s dominance and cruelty, and we will all fight until our last breath to restore peace to the universe. If you will accept our alliance, then we can work together to avenge the Alteans and so many other enslaved and slaughtered peoples.” Kolivan fell silent, and held Prince Lance’s eyes for a long, electric moment. The drifters seemed to pull their clump tighter together. Keith had to remind himself to breathe. His ears quivered under his mask.

            “I was there when Zarkon’s reign began,” Prince Lance finally said. “I remember that the first people he conquered were his own. I remember that my father and the Paladins were blind to his machinations until it was too late. Altea may be gone, but there are plenty of innocent people out there who are still suffering under his Empire, including some of the Galra. If you will help me save them, then I will gladly accept your offer.” Kolivan inclined his head.

            “It is our honor,” he said. Some of the tension seemed to leak out of the room. “Please, let us show you our hospitality.” The Blades on the left side of the room parted, opening a door that led further into the base. Prince Lance and Kolivan passed through it together, Antok, Rivan, and the drifters following them. The rest of the Blades dispersed through other doors. Keith felt Noku eyeing him from across the room and glared back, invisible behind his mask, but perhaps he would smell the annoyance rolling off him. As if he still needed babysitting to ensure he wouldn’t try to follow Kolivan into a private meeting.

            “Put me down! Put me down!” Keith shrieked, slamming Ulaz’s back with his tiny fists. “Let _go_ of me, you big ugly sneerlik! This isn’t _fair._ ” He kicked and scratched and yanked all the fur he could reach, but Ulaz just marched on, unfazed, with Keith slung over one shoulder like a carry-bag, one hand clamped over his back. The dimly lit halls of the base slid past, occasionally occupied by another Blade giving them a side-eyed stare. Keith continued his struggle unabated, reaching out for doorways and walls to snag to slow Ulaz down. Finally, he managed to pry up one of the fingers holding him down just enough that when he twisted he could get his mouth around it, and bit with all his might. He felt his tiny fangs pierce the skin and the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth. Ulaz yanked his hand away, cursing and cradling his finger. Keith fell off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a painful thump, but he scrambled to his feet, trying to run back down the hall while Ulaz was still distracted. He’d barely gone two steps before Ulaz’s hand, still bleeding, shot out and caught him around the stomach. He screamed at the top of his lungs, flailing wildly as Ulaz lifted him one-handed. He set Keith back on the floor in front of him, kneeling down to his eye level, and gripped him by the shoulders.

“Keith. _Keith._ Keith, _stop_ ,” he ordered. Keith screamed even louder, trying to push Ulaz’s hands off him.

“Let _go_!” he shrieked.

“I’m not going to let go, so you might as well listen to me!” Ulaz snapped. Keith jumped, quieting. He was horrified to find he was sniffling, tears burning in his eyes. Ulaz sighed, loosening his hold on Keith’s shoulders just slightly. “Keith, you cannot sneak into private meetings like that. Especially not Kolivan’s, and especially not if he’s meeting a drifter or anyone else who isn’t a Blade. Kolivan talk about some very dangerous things. I don’t want you to get in trouble because you heard something you shouldn’t have. Do you understand?”

“I have to talk to them!” Keith said. He bit his lip, teeth sharp against his skin, at the sound of the crack in his voice. He couldn’t cry. Ulaz would never take him seriously if he started to cry. He tried again, exerting all his four-year-old will to keep his voice even. “I have to talk to the drifters.”

            “Why?” Ulaz asked.

            “Because one of them might be human!” Ulaz paused, his eyes roving over Keith’s face.

            “Keith,” he said gently. “I’ve shown you the pictures of your father. None of the aliens in there look anything like him.”

            “SO?” Keith found he had started crying anyway, tears matting the fur on his cheeks. “Neither do I! Maybe one of them is like me!” He sniffed, trying to rub away his tears with the back of hand, the fur chafing against his eyelids. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t a Blade. I’m never gonna meet another human.” Ulaz sighed again, softly, and released Keith’s shoulders. He sat down and scooted over to lean against the wall. He held out a hand to Keith, who crossed his arms and looked away.

            “I did try to find a human to help care for you,” Ulaz said. “At one point I even had a notion that I would fly you to Earth and find you a family there. But that would only have brought the Empire’s attention to your planet, and humans are beyond scarce in space. Eventually, I got worried that I was spending too much time looking for a human to help you and not enough actually looking after you. None of the Blades were much interested in caring for a helpless infant.” Keith peeked back to see Ulaz had rested his head against the wall and was staring up at the ceiling. “You were born naked and wide-eyed and screaming, nothing like a Galra child. You had no fur at all, just a tuft of that black hair on your head.” Keith rested a protective hand over the soft human hair growing in all directions on his head. “You had no litter, but you were so much bigger than a normal newborn kit your mother almost didn’t survive the birth. Your skull was so soft I thought it would break at the lightest touch and so heavy it used to knock you over whenever you tried to sit up. All of us were so afraid something had gone horribly wrong. After all, the mixing of alien species is no small thing, and so rarely successful. Your mother seemed ready to despair as quintants passed and you stayed toothless and clawless, unable to even crawl on your own. But your father…” Keith glanced back and his eyes widened at the slight smile on Ulaz’s face. “Oh, your father. He just cooed and oohed and aahed and carried you everywhere and showed you off to anyone who would look at you. ‘He’s a baby,’ was his baffled explanation whenever one of us expressed concern.” Keith caved, and walked over to curl up on Ulaz’s lap, his knees tucked up underneath him and one ear pressed to Ulaz’s chest, listening to his beating heart. Ulaz didn’t look down, just brought his arms up to rest lightly and protectively on Keith’s back. The warmth of his fur and the even rhythm of his heartbeat calmed Keith into sleepiness. “None of us thought you would survive. And yet you endured an explosion and lasted five vargas trapped under the rubble of our base.” Keith’s claws tightened on Ulaz’s shirt. Ulaz looked down, stroking his back slowly. “My little star-crossed kit,” he murmured. Keith pressed himself closer, the sound of Ulaz’s heart and his familiar smell reassuring. Another Blade walked down the hallway, sneaking a peek at the two of them but saying nothing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Ulaz said once the Blade was gone. “Once you’re old enough to face the trials, we’ll find a way to get you safely to Earth so you can meet your father’s people.” Keith looked up.

            “When will I be old enough for the trials?” he asked. The tears had dried, leaving his fur spiky and uneven.

            “I’m not sure,” Ulaz said, bending one leg in and shifting Keith’s weight to the other. “It took you so many cycles to walk I wasn’t sure you ever would, and yet less than a year before you started to mimic words. I can’t predict when you’ll be grown. We’re figuring this out together.” Keith looked back down, his hands still clutching the front of Ulaz’s shirt.

            “What if I’m never grown?” he asked. “If you don’t know when it happens, how do you know it will ever happen?” Ulaz hummed.

            “Well, Galra are fully grown at fourteen, and your father once mentioned that humans are adults when they are eighteen. Why don’t we split the difference, and say you’ll be an adult when you’re sixteen?” Keith pulled away, staring at Ulaz.

            “But I’m only _four_ ,” he wailed. “Sixteen is so far away!” Ulaz took him by the shoulders again, gently this time.

            “I know,” he soothed. “But some things cannot be rushed. It will pass quicker than you think.”

            “Whose years are we even using, anyway?” Keith griped. “Are Galra years the same as human years?”

“You have so many questions,” Ulaz said, ruffling Keith’s hair. Keith jerked his head away, annoyed. “To tell you the truth, I do not know. The thought had not occurred to me. But Galra time measures have become standard for all interstellar travelers, so best we stick to that.” Keith sighed and let himself be pulled back to Ulaz’s chest, listening to his heartbeat once more.

            “At least they’re not Garuvian years,” he muttered. The planet Gavros took a laborious twenty years by Galra standards to circle its star. When Ulaz had told Keith about them, it had sounded like their own planet’s slowness infected everything they did, from aging and growing to building their homes. They even spoke slowly. Keith had declared in awe that he thought it would drive him insane if he had to live there.

            “I would not subject you to that,” Ulaz said, an undercurrent of amusement just barely audible in his voice. Keith could smell it off him, though, the sunny scent of parental affection and mirth filling his nostrils. He made a growly purr deep in the back of his throat and snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around Ulaz’s neck. “Shall I take you back to your nest, my little kit?” he asked. Keith nodded into his chest, eyes drifting closed. “Alright,” Ulaz said, wrapping an arm under his legs as he stood. “We’ll get you some of those Kulnir clams for dinner after you take a nap, how does that sound?” Keith murmured his assent. His temper tantrum had drained him and Ulaz’s soothing scent and heartbeat were lulling him to sleep. Slowly, the familiar comforts pulled him under, into quiet dark stillness.

 

           Out in the hall, Keith dropped his hood and retracted his mask, sighing in relief as his ears sprung free. He shook his head slightly, the bangs of his human hair falling into his eyes, the rest of it tangled and sticking up in the back. He reached over his shoulder to grab the hilt of the sword strapped across his back. After it retracted into a knife a little shorter than his forearm, he stuck it into his belt and took off down the hallway, groaning silently when he heard the thudding boots of someone hurrying after him.

            “That was incredible! I can’t believe _Prince Lance of Altea_ is still alive! Have you ever seen anything like it?”

            “I’ve barely seen the outside of this base, Murloz,” Keith said. The Blade’s newest member caught up and bounced along nervously beside him, his ears flicking in every direction. His scent was so barbed with anxious excitement that it made Keith’s own adrenaline spike in response. He felt the fur on his back and neck bristling in annoyance.

            “That’s not true! You’ve been going on missions since you were what, seven?”

            “Ulaz took me on a diplomatic mission to a drifter base because there was no one on the base to take care of me except Kolivan and Rivan. Trust me, until I was fourteen, going to a swap moon was big news.”

            “That’s still so cool, though,” Murloz said wistfully. “My mam never took us anywhere cool. I never even got to go in a space shuttle until I was twelve. The stories that I heard about _this_ place, though, oh man, everyone on K’v’y thought the Blade was just a legend. I still can’t believe I’m actually a _member_ of it now.”

            “Neither can I,” Keith muttered under his breath.

            “Where are you headed?” he asked, oblivious.

            “My apartment,” he said, keeping his voice as flat and neutral as possible. He was surprised Murloz wasn’t overwhelmed by the scent of irritation rolling off him in waves every time they spoke. Then again Murloz always had seemed especially clueless.

            “With drifters on board? With _Prince Lance of Altea_ on board?” Murloz seemed personally offended by Keith’s lack of enthusiasm.

            “They’re in a meeting with Kolivan. What were you planning to do, stand in the hall and hope you got a chance to stare at one of them walking to the bathroom?” Keith punched the elevator call button with slightly more force than was strictly necessary.

            “No,” Murloz said indignantly, but then immediately fell silent. Keith raised an eyebrow at him as the elevator doors slid open.

            “Did you have any plan at all, then?” he asked. Murloz stopped shifting and crossed his arms, glaring at Keith.

            “Why is everyone in the Blade so serious all the time? Would it kill you all to get excited about something once in a while?”

            “Knowledge or death, Murloz,” Keith said, stepping into the elevator and turning back to face him. “They don’t deal in much else here.” The door slid closed across Murloz’s face, leaving Keith in blessed peace and quiet. He sighed, leaning back against the wall, catching a glimpse of his dark and blurry reflection in the door. His yellow eyes shone brightly, reflecting off the metal. He blinked slowly and watched his reflection do the same.

            “I don’t feel like an adult, Ulaz,” he whispered. His fingers rested lightly on the hilt of his blade, fidgeting with it. Even after waiting sixteen years to do it, passing the trials and awakening the blade had felt hollow without Ulaz there to watch him and congratulate him. None of the other Galra seemed to understand why he cared, so he supposed it must be a human thing, this continued need for attachment to the only parent he’d ever known, this need for Ulaz to see him and approve of him. Knowing it was anomalous didn’t make it better, though.

            His mind drifted to the Altean prince. Despite his dismissal of Murloz, he couldn’t deny his curiosity. Prince Lance should technically be older than him, given the length of Altean years, but they were both sixteen by their own count. He hadn’t registered how similar they might be until he had seen him. Keith had seen something familiar in his eyes and in the bold tilt of his chin. He was trying, desperately, to be an adult, to pretend to know what he was doing, but behind the confidence there was a frightened boy who was not ready to face the world on his own just yet. Keith knew the fear that lurked behind those eyes because it was his own.

            The elevator door slid open and Keith moved on autopilot down the hall, absently pressing a hand onto the print scanner beside his door. The door pulled apart silently and Keith padded into his apartment, pulling off his armor pieces and sticking them into the closet. Stripped to his black under-suit, he swung his arms around and cracked his neck. He hit the switch to bring up the lights and sighed, relaxed for the first time that quintant. He peeled off the under-suit to change into what Ulaz had always referred to as “civilian clothes,” soft pants and a dark t- shirt. Comfortable, his fur fluffing up into the open air, he sprawled across his tiny sofa and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his room. His stomach growled and he flopped his head back with a groan. Kolivan would be upstairs with Prince Lance dining on intergalactic delicacies, but Keith hadn’t been out on a supply run in an entire cycle so his choices were food goo in his apartment or food goo in the open cafeteria. He wasn’t sure he was hungry enough yet to stomach that meal. He sank further into the cushions of his sofa, pulling one arm across his eyes. Maybe he could just doze off for a few dobashes.

The new Blade was even taller than most Galra, his shoulders narrow but hunched with a bullish aggressiveness. He also had a center as hard and solid as a rock, as Keith could attest from having practically bounced off him after running around the corner without looking. Keith rubbed his head, one eye squeezed shut against the pounding where he had whacked it against the thigh guard, as the Blade stared down at him. He smelled cold and distant, with just the faintest hint of annoyance threading through his snowy odor. His face was unreadable behind the mask, but there was disdain in his voice when he spoke.

            “What… are you?” he asked. Keith climbed to his feet, the thudding in his head subsiding slowly.

            “I’m Keith,” he announced happily. “I live here.”

            The Blade glanced around as if there might be someone waiting to jump out and laugh about their prank. As he turned his gaze back to Keith, a thread of confusion joined the annoyance. “What is a child doing in the Blade of Marmora’s base?” he asked. Keith shrugged.

            “Ulaz says there was nowhere else for me to go and he told my parents he’d look after me. So when they died he brought me here.”

            “Ulaz raised you?” the Blade asked. Keith nodded.

            “You don’t have to keep that mask on, you know,” Keith said, pointing up. “No one gets onto this base unless the Blade lets them in.” He could see the fabric of the mask twitch slightly, and then it retracted, revealing the Galra’s face underneath. He had a vicious, knotted scar across one cheek and a chunk missing from one of his ears. “What’s your name?” Keith asked. The Blade stared him down without answering for so long that he almost started backing away.

            “Noku,” the Blade finally replied. “Do you know where Ulaz is, Keith?”

            “I’m right here.” Ulaz rounded the corner, his blade strapped across his back, yellow eyes fixed on Noku. He paused next to Keith, dropping a hand onto his shoulder.

            “I didn’t realize you had a kit, Ulaz. It explains why you left the Myrwa sector so abruptly. People spent ages trying to figure out what personal emergency would make you just up and quit your job and never come back.” Keith’s nostrils flared, trying to understand the dangerous sparks flying between the two men. One hand crept up and gripped Ulaz’s arm. He squeezed Keith’s shoulder in response.

            “Did you follow me all the way to the Blade just to find out?” he asked. Noku’s eye twitched and his ears flicked off invisible flies.

            “I found the Blade on my own,” he said, his voice dangerously low and growly. The threads of confusion and annoyance were gone from his scent, replaced by the hot, sharp smell of anger, overtaking and melting the surrounding coldness. “After my planet was destroyed and everyone on it died.”

            “That was a horrible tragedy,” Ulaz said. His hand shifted off of Keith’s shoulder and onto his chest, gently pushing him a step behind him. Keith glanced up, confused. Ulaz had told him he could always trust the Blades. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

            “You could have prevented it!” Noku exploded. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing his jagged teeth. Three of them were broken and one was missing altogether. Keith took half a step back, alarmed, his eyes widening as he stared at Noku. “You must have known Myrwa was becoming unstable. The drifters sent ships to rescue as many as they could when the star started to collapse but it wasn’t nearly enough. They didn’t even reach my planet. You could have called in the Blade. You could have helped save everyone!”

            “I doubt I would have been able to help, Noku,” Ulaz said. “The Blade does not expose itself like that.”

            “You could at least have tried!” There was a constant growling coming from Noku’s throat now. Keith shot a nervous glance at Ulaz, but his eyes were fixed on Noku. “Instead you abandoned us for this— this runt!” Ulaz’s hand pressed against Keith’s chest.

            “I did not realize how soon Myrwa would collapse. I believed the drifters had more time,” Ulaz said. “Nor were you my ally at the time. I would have left you to die regardless for fear you would have turned me in as a traitor.”

            “You left us _all_ to die,” Noku snarled. He took a menacing few steps forward until they were nose to nose. Ulaz did not flinch.

            “I left to take care of a helpless kit, and to perform the last wishes of a friend,” he said. Noku looked down at Keith and the disdain returned full force.

            “Helpless is right,” he said. “What’s wrong with it?”

            “Keith is star-crossed,” Ulaz said calmly. “He’s half human.” Noku barked a laugh.

            “A star-crossed kit? You’re joking. And you’re raising him in the middle of the Blade’s secret base? What does Kolivan think about this?”

            “Kolivan suggested it,” Ulaz said. “This way I can care for Keith and still work with the Blade.” Noku stared him down for another tense few ticks, before he abruptly knelt in front of Keith, examining him coldly.

            “You think you’re worth this effort, runt?” he asked. The fur down Keith’s back bristled.

            “I’m not a runt,” he said.

            “Leave Keith in peace, or you will answer to me,” Ulaz said, and for the first time, Keith heard an undercurrent of anger in his voice. Noku stood back up, giving Ulaz one last glare, and then letting his mask cover his face once more.

            “We all want to see the end of the Empire. As long as you’re fully committed to that, Ulaz, you won’t have any trouble with me,” he said, and walked away. Ulaz turned back to Keith, who clutched at his arm.

            “Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Ulaz knelt down, shaking his head.

            “No, no,” he said. “Noku is only angry at me. He just took it out on you because you’re small, and that makes him think you’re easier to scare.”

            “I’m not scared!” Keith declared, puffing out his chest. Ulaz gave him a hint of a smile.

            “I knew you wouldn’t be,” he said. “Still, you might do best to avoid Noku when he’s at the base. There’s no sense in upsetting him further.” Keith nodded solemnly.

            “Okay.”

            “How are you feeling?” Ulaz asked. Keith, afraid he might be sick if he opened his mouth, just nodded. “I can feel you trembling,” he observed, a hint of amusement coloring the edge of his scent. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

            “I want to,” Keith insisted. “Galra in the Empire start training when they’re five. I’m already eight!”

            “Most Galra are twice your size and have their first set of adult fangs and claws by the time they’re four,” Ulaz observed. “You still had cartilage where half your bones should be.” Keith crossed his arms grumpily.

            “I’m ready.” He tried to growl, but it came out more like a yip. The faintest trace of a smile pulled at Ulaz’s lips.

            “Very well,” he said. He pressed his hand to the print scanner and the doors to the training arena slid open. “Thol will be your teacher.” A Blade stood in the center of the room, her mask and hood obscuring her face, watching Keith intently.

            “Hi Thol,” Keith waved. She and Ulaz had dined together just a few nights ago, with Keith sprawled on the floor behind them, paging disinterestedly through a book on the interstellar influence of Altea. He couldn’t decide which he found more boring: the history of Altean courtship rituals, or Thol and Ulaz’s conversation about the Empire’s overuse of Balmeran crystals. She seemed unmoved by Keith’s familiarity.

            “Come here,” she said. Keith glanced once at Ulaz, who nodded, and then obediently walked to the center of the room, stopping a few steps away. His neck itched under the sensors of his suit but he fought the urge to scratch it, keeping his hands quietly at his side. The door to the hall slid closed, leaving Ulaz outside and Keith alone with his new teacher. Thol circled him.

            “You are small and your claws are still soft like a child’s. Your muscles also still resemble a child’s,” she observed. Keith could feel her eyes burning on him through her mask. Her scent was unreadable.

            “But my adult teeth are finally starting to come in,” he said. Thol did not respond, completing her circle and coming to a standstill in front of him again.

            “We will work on the assumption that you will likely always be smaller than the average Galra. You can learn to use that size to your advantage. How fast are you?”

            “Ulaz is always panting when he has to run after me, now,” Keith said proudly. Thol did not react.

            “Very well. Take a defensive stance.” Keith blinked.

            “Don’t I need a knife first?” he asked.

            “This is your first lesson. You have a long way to go before you will be prepared to use a weapon. Take a defensive stance.” Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes – Thol probably wouldn’t appreciate it, and he did want to impress her – and mimicked what he saw the other Blades do when preparing to spar: widened his stance, left foot diagonally behind his right, bent his knees, and brought his arms up in front of him, imagining he was holding a knife with his right hand. Thol walked up and prodded one of his elbows higher.

            “Your father favored the use of his right hand and found it difficult to use his left. Are you the same?” she asked.

            “What? No, no I can use both hands just fine,” Keith said, baffled, filing away the information to ask Ulaz about later. Did humans have something wrong with their left hands?

            Thol poked and prodded Keith with corrections to his stance, but he caught the faintest whiff of pleased surprise and bit back a satisfied smile. He learned a lot from watching the other Blades. And he already knew how to use his small size to his advantage: when you were shorter than everyone’s natural line of sight, no one noticed you sneaking into places and hiding in corners to watch them as long as you stayed quiet. As soon as she’d gotten him into the right position, however, Thol had him stand up out of it and then go back into it for almost an entire varga without stopping. Every single time there was an elbow or a knee pointed a little the wrong way or a foot set a little too wide for her to poke and reprimand him for. By the time she announced they were done for the quintant, Keith’s thighs were burning and he wanted nothing more than to punch Thol in the middle of her flat-faced mask.

            “What do you mean we’re _done_?” he said. “We haven’t done anything yet! I haven’t _learned_ anything yet.”

            “Fighting is about muscle memory. When you only have half a tick to make a decision about which way to dodge or how to attack next, you must know that your body is going to do exactly what you want it to do. In order to achieve that, you must spend vargas – both with me and by yourself – practicing and perfecting your stances and your movements until you no longer have to think about them. Then you must continue to practice them so you do not forget them. You must get the basics right before you can do anything else. If you lay the foundation wrong, the entire house will always be unstable. You will make mistakes, and during battles, mistakes can get you killed.” She paused, watching Keith through the anonymous purple-white glow of her mask. When she spoke again, her tone softened slightly, the impersonal edge melting. “Fighting is not glorious, Keith. Fighting is tedious and dangerous. If you want to learn, do it to protect yourself and others. Do not learn to fight because you want to impress Ulaz, or me, or anyone else.” Keith bowed his head.

            “Yes, Thol,” he said. “Thank you.”

            “Make sure you stretch out your muscles so you are not too sore for our lesson tomorrow.”

            “Okay.”

            “And Keith?” Keith paused, half turned away already.

            “Yes?”

            “It is my job to train you, to correct you and point out where you can improve. I will not deliver many compliments. But you did well this quintant.” Keith felt a smile pull at the corners of his lips.

            “Thank you,” he said. He left the training room, stopping to take long gulps of blessedly cold water from the fountain in the locker room. He let it run across his fur, soaking into his cheeks, chin, and neck along with his sweat. Shaking himself dry enough that he wouldn’t drip everywhere, he walked back towards the elevator to the residential sector of the base, only to find the hallways in commotion. Blades whipped by in quiet urgency, muttering to each other as they went. One of them, a younger Blade named Olvarak, emerged from one of the training rooms looking just as confused as Keith. He grabbed the shoulder of a passing Blade, asking what was happening. Straining to hear the whispered answer, Keith caught only the name ‘Thace.’ Olvarak’s eyes went wide and he shoved his blade into the sheath on his back. He joined the Blades rushing toward the main hall. Keith followed, keeping quiet and to the sides, hoping no one would notice him and tell him to go back to his room.

            Almost every Blade currently on the base was gathered in entrance hall, their unmasked faces illuminated by the symbol shimmering and crackling over their heads. They were clumped in groups, muttering to each other and casting furtive looks at the group in the center of the room. Two of the Galra wore Imperial armor, the glowing pink curves on their chest out of place. One of them, with a pale stripe on either ear and thick fur across his chin, Keith did not recognize. The other had the half-helmet of a foot soldier obscuring his face, and Keith was too far away to catch his scent. They were talking with Kolivan, Antok, Rivan, Prokrovor, and Ulaz – all the highest ranked members of the Blade currently on the base. Keith slunk along the wall, straining to hear any of their conversation over the general chatter of the hall.

            Ulaz suddenly twitched his ears and looked up. Keith shrunk into an alcove, trying to hide behind a clump of Blades, but Ulaz turned and looked straight at him. He cursed under his breath. Ulaz would catch his scent through a crowd of farting winshergurs. He peeled off from the group, clearly offering his apologies, and pushed through the crowd to Keith.

            “Keith, little kit, what are you doing here? I thought you were training with Thol?”

            “We finished for the quintant,” he said, defensive. “Everyone was coming here. I just followed.” Ulaz sighed.

            “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.” Keith pulled away from the offered hand, conscious of all the other Blades glancing in their direction.

            “I can go by myself if you’re busy,” he frowned. “I’m not a newborn.”

            “No, but you’re a wily one, and the stars know where you might end up if I don’t keep my eyes on you,” Ulaz said.

            “Who is this?” Keith jumped as a voice boomed out behind Ulaz. The two Galra in Imperial armor had followed Ulaz across the room, Kolivan and the rest trailing behind them. Ulaz turned, opening his mouth to start an explanation, but he took too long to speak. The higher-ranked of the two crouched in front of Keith. “What’s your name, little kit?”

            “I’m Keith,” he said, staring wide-eyed at the strange Galra. Recognition crossed his face and a strange smell of prideful joy swirled up.

            “Of course, you’re Zami’s kit, aren’t you?”

            “I’ve been taking care of him, here on the base,” Ulaz said, coming around to put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “That’s why I haven’t been working on the outside much in recent years.”

            “The last time I saw you, your fur had only just started growing in, in all these odd little patches,” the strange Galra chuckled. “But I remember that hair, in fluffy little strands on your head.”

            “Who are you?” Keith asked. The Galra smiled, his eyes alight.

            “My name is Thace,” he said. “I’m a Blade too. It’s nice to meet you.”

            “Nice to meet you,” Keith said politely.

            “Do you behave yourself for Ulaz?” Thace asked. Keith frowned.

            “When his rules make sense,” he said. Ulaz squeezed his shoulder as Thace laughed.

            “That’s the spirit.”

            “Don’t encourage him,” Ulaz warned. Thace stood, the smell of contentment rolling off him in waves.

            “It’s good to be home,” he said, a note of tender affection in his voice. His eyes passed over all the other Blades. They ducked their heads, embarrassed to be caught staring, but Thace didn’t seem to mind. Keith glanced up at Ulaz, confused by his scent. It was some mixture of admiration and sadness he had never smelled before.

            “It’s good to have you here,” Ulaz replied, his voice quiet and his eyes fixed on Thace. “But you were saying, you cannot stay?” Thace shook his head.

            “I should not really have come at all, but I wanted an opportunity to see everyone, however briefly.” He sighed, casting another look around the base. “High command is a lonely place even without a secret agenda. The quintants when I am not lying are few and far between.” He turned to the other Galra with him, whose face was still obscured. “Thank you once again for your help.”

            “It was my honor,” the Blade said. Keith started and stared up at Ulaz. “I hope we get the chance to work together again in the future.” Noku pulled off his helmet, a fresh new scar standing out white against his chin, and inclined his head to Thace.

            “Unfortunately, as long as I manage to maintain my cover in the Empire’s high command, I must minimize contact with the Blades, and since we need the Empire to believe you’re dead, it’s too risky to put you back undercover. Still, it’s thanks to you my position remains secure. The Blade appreciates your work.” Noku’s already bowed head sunk deeper, hiding his face from view. Thace turned back to Keith, crouching back down in front of him.

            “I see you’re suited up for training,” he observed.

            “I just started this quintant,” Keith said. He paused. “I haven’t done much yet,” he admitted. “Thol just had me practice a defensive stance for the entire lesson.” Thace’s ears flicked back and forth.

            “Keith,” he said. “Do you know why we use the luxite blades?” Keith blinked.

            “Because they’re easier to hide but they’re still good big weapons when you need to fight,” he answered. “Because if someone else steals them they’ll only have a knife and not a full sword. And because if you pass the trials and awaken the blade you prove you’re worthy.”

            “That’s all true,” Thace said. His eyes were fixed on Keith’s face. “But there’s another reason as well. The trials are about worthiness, yes, but they’re also about _readiness_. You cannot be a member of the Blade of Marmora if you do not demonstrate you are ready for the battles and sacrifices you will have to endure.” He put his hand on Keith’s arm, opposite from where Ulaz’s hand still rested on his shoulder. “The knives remind us that we must start small. We take small steps towards the massive goal of defeating the Empire, and hope that by doing so, we prepare ourselves for the fight that will come. Can you understand that?” Wide-eyed, Keith nodded.

            “I’ll work hard,” he promised. Thace smiled.

            “Good. Then next time I’m back, you’ll have to show me everything you’ve learned.” Keith nodded again, his ears quivering as his head bounced up and down.

            “Thank you, Thace,” Ulaz said. Thace shook his head, and stood. “Stay safe.”

            “Stay strong,” he replied. He turned back to Kolivan.

            “Walk out with me,” he said. Kolivan nodded, and he and Thace left swiftly. The other Galra started to disperse, drifting out in clumps and still muttering to each other. Noku lingered, his eyes running over Keith’s training suit.

            “You’re training him, now, Ulaz?” he asked. Keith could smell him now, a crushing coldness that made him shiver as it rolled over him.

            “Thol has begun his lessons,” Ulaz answered neutrally.

            “Then perhaps it is time for you to leave him to the care of the rest of the Blades.” He took a step closer. Keith fought the urge to sink into the defensive stance he’d been practicing for the last varga. “We need you out there, Ulaz. The Blade needs your skills in its fight against the Empire.” He seemed earnest, no undertone of disdain or threat in his voice. Keith stared up at the two of them.

            “Keith still needs me more than the Blade does. And you know I have not abandoned my work here either.” Noku sighed. His yellow eyes glowed dangerously.

            “Knowledge or death, Ulaz. Remember our mission.” He turned and strode away before Ulaz had a chance to answer. Keith tugged on Ulaz’s arm.

            “Ulaz?”

            “What is it?”

            “I thought you said Noku was gone. That he was on a mission and he wouldn’t be coming back for years.”

            “He was,” Ulaz said. “Come on, let’s get you back to the apartment. I’ll explain on the way.” Keith fell into step beside him. For the first time, Ulaz’s eyes looked tired and dull. He stayed quiet, waiting for him to speak. He did not begin until they were alone in the elevator, the quiet whirr of machinery the only sound in the air.

            “That Galra you met just now, Thace, he is one of the most important members of the entire Blade of Marmora,” he said eventually. “He has been working undercover almost his entire life. He was one of the youngest to ever take on the trials. By the time he was old enough to attend an imperial military school, he was already a full-fledged Blade. Now, he is one of the highest ranked commanders in the entire Empire. I do not think the Blade has ever managed to get someone quite so close to Zarkon before. He is an incredibly brave and selfless person.

            “There was a… problem that arose. The Galra found something very important, and very powerful, and it is very important that the Blade prevents them from being able to use it.”

            “Something powerful like a weapon?” Keith asked. The elevator doors opened onto the quiet hallway.

            “In a way,” Ulaz said. He stayed quiet until they were at the end of the hallway and he pressed his hand to the print scanner next to Keith’s door. “It was being kept top secret, and only Thace and a few other commanders knew about it. He was afraid of what might happen if he waited to be able to deliver word to Kolivan, so he acted on his own to try and prevent the Galra from using it. Unfortunately, he was not able to entirely disguise his efforts.”

            “So now Zarkon knows he’s a traitor?” Keith asked. Ulaz pulled open Keith’s closet and handed him fresh clothes. Keith stripped the training suit off in relief.

            “No,” Ulaz said, sitting on the couch while Keith got dressed. “Noku found out what was happening and took the fall for him, confessing to being a traitor to the Empire because of the destruction of Myrwa. He managed to fake his own death, with Thace’s help, but if the Empire ever finds out he is alive, Thace will be in grave danger. So Noku has returned here.”

            “Is he staying here forever?” Keith asked, dropping the suit into the laundry chute and sitting on the couch beside Ulaz.

            “He will still be able to go on some covert missions, or he might be able to do some work with the drifters, but he can no longer walk freely outside the base lest the Empire find out he is alive and connects him to Thace. So he will spend most of his time here.” Keith flicked his ears, considering.

            “Noku won’t like that,” he said.

            “No, he will not,” Ulaz said. “Nor will you or I, I suspect. But he is a fellow Blade, and he made a very dangerous sacrifice. His decision could well have gotten him killed. He deserves our respect.”

            “I can respect him as long as I don’t have to like him,” Keith muttered grudgingly. Ulaz smiled and ruffled his hair. Keith half shoved his hand away in exasperation, but there was no force behind his movement. Ulaz smelled of amused contentment. He glanced up at his face, hesitantly, and then crawled onto his lap, pressing his ear against his chest.

            “You haven’t done this in a while,” Ulaz murmured. Keith shrugged, nuzzling closer.

            “Are you going to go away, Ulaz?” he asked. Ulaz stroked his back.

            “No,” he said. “Not until you’re old enough for the trials. Despite what Noku says, there are plenty of talented and intelligent Blades out there fighting for our cause, and I can do a great deal of good from here. I won’t leave you.” Keith sighed, letting the familiar comforts of Ulaz’s smell and his arms around him hold him for just a moment longer before he pulled away.

            “Thol said I should stretch if I don’t want to be sore,” he said. Ulaz nodded, standing up off the couch.

            “I’ll be next door if you need me,” he said. He left Keith pressing up against a wall, trying to stretch out the knotted muscles in his calves. His hair felt heavy and hot on the back of his neck where it fell over the top of his fur. He lifted it up one-handed, continuing to press against the wall with the other, but his arm ached with tiredness. He stood up straight, and went digging in his kitchen drawers. After a few dobashes, he triumphantly pulled out a piece of black cord, the kind he used to tie together a bag if he was taking a lunch with him to a swap moon. He sloppily tied it around his hair, pulling it up off his neck in a small bunch. He returned to stretching, his neck free of his hair, and groaning at his protesting thighs. As he breathed slowly in and out, counting his breaths, he heard someone in the hall opening a door into one of the empty apartments. Just before the door slid closed again, there was a barely audible whine of grief.

            Keith started awake to a rapping at his door. A screechy whine of tiredness escaped his throat. It was probably Murloz, back looking for company and someone to talk about drifters and Altea with. Keith flipped and buried his face in the cushion, sighing deeply. The scent of the fabric – mostly his own, with a hint of the cleaner he’d used on it a few cycles ago – filled his nose. Maybe Murloz would just go away.

            The knocking came again, accompanied by a hesitant “Hello?” Keith’s ears twitched. That wasn’t a voice he recognized. Maybe one of the drifters had gotten lost.

            “’m coming,” he called, his voice smushed and muffled by the sofa cushion. He took another few ticks to keep his eyes closed before pushing himself to his feet, blinking at the light. He shambled across to his door as the knocking came again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” he called, annoyed, as he pressed the button to open the door. “What d’you—” He stopped abruptly, staring.

            Prince Lance of Altea was standing outside his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you would like to~~~


	3. Soft-Clawed Runt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic violence warning is there for a reason. Things get bloody, things get broken

            Keith’s exclamation of surprise and confusion died in his mouth, leaving him staring silently slack-jawed at the slender white-haired boy in front of him. Prince Lance blinked, seeming a bit taken aback himself. For a moment they were both perfectly still, staring each other down. Then Prince Lance blurted out, “You’re the short one.”

            Keith’s ears flicked sharply, as if trying to knock away an insect, and he felt the fur on the back of his neck bristle. Noku still called him a runt often enough, he didn’t need to hear it from some boy barely a thumb taller than him. Only the danger of creating a diplomatic incident made him press his lips together, a sharp tooth pricking the inside of his cheek. Lance’s cheeks had flushed red.

            “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “I just meant— I saw you, on the side of the room, when we first got here. At first I thought maybe you were a kid or something, but you have a blade, so that can’t be it, right?” His eyes narrowed, looking Keith up and down, and seemingly subconsciously his hand reached out. Keith flinched backward and he froze. “And you have, uh, you have hair like an Altean,” he said, changing the reaching hand into a pointing one. As Keith stared him down stonily, Lance dropped his hand and rubbed it self-consciously across the nape of his neck. “You’re not… you can’t be… You aren’t half-Altean, are you?”

            The fur on the back of Keith’s neck was sticking straight out now, almost painfully. How this Prince Lance had so thoroughly gotten on his nerves in under a dobash, he didn’t know, but he had quickly erased the feeling of kinship their similar ages had brought. He grit his teeth and ground out an answer.

            “I’m half-human,” he said. Lance tilted his head.

            “I don’t know what that is,” he said.

            “They’re short compared to Galra and they have hair like Alteans,” he said. “Did you need something?”

            “But what planet are they from?” Keith breathed out slowly. _Centered and focused and calm, just like Thol is always saying_ , he thought.

            “It’s called Earth. Can I help you or not?” Lance went red again.

            “I’m a bit lost,” he admitted. “I was looking for— Um.” He shifted from foot to foot. His skittering sideways glance at Keith seemed to indicate he realized he’d pissed him off. “I’m spending the night in one of the apartments just down the hall and I… Is there a graveyard aboard this ship?”

            He blurted the last part out so fast that it took Keith a moment to process what he had said. When he did, his eyes went wide. He knew that Alteans didn’t have as finely tuned sense of scent as Galra, but he could hardly believe that Lance wouldn’t smell the incredulity rolling off of him.

            “Is there a _what_?” he said.

            “A… graveyard. Or any kind of memorial to the dead.” Lance wasn’t looking Keith in the face, casting his eyes past him, around the doorframe. He ran a hand across the back of his neck again, fingers scratching at the bottom of his close-cropped white hair. _Weren’t Altean nobles supposed to wear their hair long?_ Keith thought errantly. “It’s… I like to go to graveyards wherever I am and… pay my respects to all of the Alteans.” The fur on the back of Keith’s neck relaxed a little.

            “Oh,” he said. “Take one of the elevators up to the top floor. There’s a wall with the names of the Blades who have died for the cause. You can’t miss it.” Prince Lance nodded.

            “Thanks,” he said. He started to turn to go, and then paused. “Hey, how come your apartment is the only room with decent lighting on this entire base?” he asked. Keith, already reaching for the button to close the door, paused, staring again.

            “I have a better tolerance for bright light than pure-blood Galra,” he said slowly. “Not that it’s any of your business.” Lance held up his hands in surrender.

            “Sorry, shouldn’t have pried. Thank you for the directions.”

            “Whatever.” The doors had almost slid closed when suddenly Murloz came down the hall. Keith saw him spot Prince Lance, saw him spot Keith, and could smell his excitement from where he was. Hastily, he jammed a hand into the door to stop it closing and stepped out of his room.

            “Actually, Prince Lance, I should really show you myself,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t leave you to just wander around the base by yourself. Oh, hey Murloz, uh, Rutha is looking for you.” Murloz’s ears stood on end. He agonized for a moment, which was long enough for Keith to sweep a bemused-looking Lance past him, down the hall, and into the elevator, where he slammed his hand against the button to close the door before Murloz could make up his mind to come after them. Lance turned to him with raised eyebrows.

            “I thought you said I couldn’t miss it?” he asked. Keith huffed, his ears twitching.

            “You can’t,” he muttered. “But I didn’t want either of us to have to talk to Murloz for three vargas about our two dobash conversation.” He glared at Lance. “You’re lucky. You can get off this base before he ever has a chance to corner you. He’s new and won’t be deployed on a mission for at least another two cycles, and I have to live with him until he is.” Lance made a muffled sound and Keith turned to glare at him. He was trying to stifle snorts of laughter behind his hand.

            “You should meet some of the people the drifters dig up,” he said. “Someone started an actual fan club of me. In the middle of a war. I guess all of this was just too much for anybody to handle alone.” He struck a ridiculous pose and Keith glared at him, deadpan. Lance laughed. “Alteans: an exotic and rare catch,” he said. Something strained in his voice halfway through the sentence, as if the full brunt of what he was saying suddenly caught up with him, and he abruptly turned away and fell silent. The elevator continued to rise a few moments more before the door slid open.

            “Dead ahead,” Keith said. “End of the hall, where it opens onto the window room. Like I said, you can’t miss it.” Lance paused with his hand on the door.

            “Aren’t you coming?” he asked. Keith shot him a look.

            “No,” he said.

            “You… can,” Lance said. “I don’t mind an audience.”

            “No, that’s weird. I don’t know you,” he said. He pressed the button to close the elevator door, but Lance pushed it back.

            “I might need your help remembering how to get back to my apartment,” he admitted. Keith’s ears practically flattened against his head.

            “Fine,” he groaned. Lance grinned at him. Keith followed him out of the elevator and down the hall.

            The window room was a glass bubble reaching out from the side of the base, looking directly out toward one of the black holes they were locked between. Starlight swirled overhead, disappearing into the abyss of the black hole. Beyond the blue expanse of the starlight surrounding them twinkled the white pricks of other stars and planets, stuck like pins in the black velvet space above them. It was a breathtaking sight. Lance stopped in the doorway, his head tilted up, his mouth hanging open. He stayed there, quiet and perfectly still for so long that Keith got the urge to gently shove him over.

            “The wall’s over there,” he said. The room, in fact, was entirely empty except for the block of stone rising out of the center, engraved with the names of the fallen. Lance nodded absently, his eyes still fixed on the sky. “I’ll just… be here, I guess,” Keith said. He slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged. He had no idea however long whatever Lance was planning to do would take.

            Finally, Lance managed to tear his eyes away from the sky and turn to the wall. He walked up close to it almost reaching out to touch it, but then dropped his hand. He considered the wall for another long moment, his eyes trailing over the names. Then, with a deep sigh, he raised his arms and began to dance.

            Keith watched first out of surprise, and then, he realized, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Lance flowed across the floor like water, his body weaving elegant patterns through space. Every move seemed perfectly shaped, the gentle curve of his arms and legs telling a story Keith couldn’t quite understand even as it made his emotions swell. He tilted his head back, his white hair shining in the starlight. A profound well of grief, so deep that Keith couldn’t even fathom it, glistened in his eyes. Then he dropped his head and continued, leaving Keith’s heart heaving in his chest.

            Keith shoved his sweaty bangs back from his eyes, grinning in satisfaction. Kuloz groaned as he climbed back to his feet, nursing his sore knee. He grimaced when he prodded one side with his fingers. Keith pulled the cord around his ponytail tighter as they both stepped to the edge of the training ring, reaching for water bottles. Kuloz gave Keith a grudging, respectful nod. Thol approached, her masked face as inscrutable as always.

            “Kuloz. Your attacks were sloppy. You failed to account for Keith’s speed and reaction time, which kept you from landing most of your blows. You should have been able to turn your superior strength to your advantage, but you could never get close enough to do so.” Kuloz bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Keith. Your reaction time and ability to dodge saved you, but you are still rushing in too fast. You don’t ever take the time to analyze your enemies or devise a strategy before you dive into the thick of things.” Keith ground his teeth but mimicked Kuloz and bowed his head. He’d learned it didn’t pay to argue with Thol. She was usually right anyway. Two other Blades had already taken the center of the training room, circling and feinting at each other.

            “That’s enough for today. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Thol said.

            “Thank you, Thol.” She strode off. Kuloz upended his water bottle over his head, leaving his ears dripping.

            “When Prokrovor told me there was a kit on the base that was a better fighter than half the Blades, I laughed at him,” he said, shaking himself dry. Keith leaned out of the way of the spray of water, unable to stop the scent of pride that burst off his skin, mingling with the sweat and adrenaline. Kuloz smelled it and rolled his eyes at him. “No need to rub it in, you really are as good as everyone says you are,” he said. “I would not want to be an Empire soldier getting in _your_ way, especially not once you’re a full Blade.”

            “He’s still just a runty kit,” a familiar voice sneered. Keith felt the fur on his neck bristle at the voice and that cold smell he hated so much.

            “A runty kit that has you beat nine-to-three in sparring,” he said, working to keep his pulse calm as he turned to Noku. “Not a bad record, I’d say.” Fury twisted Noku’s face, and a blast of hot anger chased away his chilly scent for an instant before he smoothed it over.

            “Well, I have to hold back a bit, don’t I? If you didn’t get in a win from time to time, you’d probably lose all of your nerve. Then you’d be even more useless than you already are.” Keith felt the fur on the back of his neck bristle.

            “Let’s spar tomorrow and see how I do without you _holding back_ ,” he snapped, letting skepticism color his words and his scent. Kuloz, glancing between the two of them, had backed away. Noku stepped closer, sending a glare in his direction, and Kuloz turned and left the training room. Just as he was opening his mouth, someone clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him jump and turn.

            “Keith,” Thace said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. I was watching your sparring match — you’ve become a remarkable fighter. You must’ve worked hard.” Keith’s jaw was hanging open, but he managed to muster a smile and beamed up at Thace.

            “Thank you,” he said. “When… when did you get here?”

            “I arrived on the base just an hour ago. I came by here looking for Thol. Did you know she and I awoke our blades one right after the other? Just days apart.” Keith shook his head, his sweaty bangs hanging limply in his eyes.

            “I didn’t,” he said. “Are you staying this time?” he asked. Thace smiled sadly.

            “I can never stay longer than a day,” he said. Keith’s eyebrows drew together at the scent of loneliness that drifted to his nose. Thace ruffled his hair.

            “It’s good to see you doing well, Keith,” he said. “Perhaps the next time I come, you will have your blade.” Keith nodded eagerly as Thace turned to go. Noku, behind him, broke from an agonized stillness and rushed forward next to Keith.

            “Thace!” he called. Thace turned back, looking slightly surprised.

            “Yes?” he asked.

            “Did you… Is everything…” Noku struggled for words, seeming at a loss for what he actually wanted to say. Thace frowned, glancing over him for a moment before recognition dawned in his eyes.

            “Noku!” he said. “That is you, isn’t it? How have you been?” Noku’s head drooped.

            “I feel useless, cooped up in this base,” he said, a thread of frustration in his scent.

            “I’m sure you’re far from useless,” Thace said. “And even so, better useless than dead.” Noku’s head shot back up, disbelief in his scent, staring at Thace. He swallowed, and his next words came with effort.

            “There’s nothing I can do for you?” he asked. Uncertainty colored the air between them. Keith took a step away, feeling awkward.

            “No, nothing,” Thace said. “I’m glad you’re doing well, Noku. Stay safe.”

            “Stay strong,” Noku mumbled, but Thace was already gone. He turned to Keith, his yellow eyes ablaze, fury burning through his scent. He jabbed a finger at him. “Why wait for tomorrow to spar?” he demanded. “I can’t go full out with Thol watching anyway, she’d stop me. Why not come back this evening, when it’s quiet and there’s no one to interrupt us?”

            “If that’s what you need to feel comfortable,” Keith said, meeting his gaze levelly. For half a moment, it looked like Noku was going to spit at him, but then he turned on his heel and left the training hall.

            The base was quietly abuzz with the news of Thace’s visit that afternoon. The Blades that weren’t cloistered in a private meeting with Thace and Kolivan gathered in the communal dining hall, muttering about the latest news and rumors from the Empire, speculating what could have brought Thace in person. Ulaz hurried off to the private meeting, promising Keith he’d look in on him at dinner time. It was easy enough to slip away from the crowd down to the empty training hall, where Noku was already waiting, holding two sparring staves.

            “I thought we’d mix it up a bit,” he said, tossing one to Keith. He caught it out of the air, the weight pulling at his shoulder. “You haven’t awoken a blade, yet, of course, but these should do nicely as weapons.” Keith hefted the staff, trying not to grimace. He’d been fighting with various practice weapons since he started training, but staves were by far his worst – aside from a blaster, since his aim with those remained abysmal. Staves were heavy and limited his movement, intended for fighters who could swing them around with ease, keeping enemies away forcefully rather than relying on dodging and being quick on their feet. Noku knew this, and Keith could smell his smugness, burning holes through his cold exterior. Keith looked him dead in the eye and gripped the staff.

            “Works for me,” he said, and charged.

            Even with the staff in hand, he could still move significantly faster than Noku, and his first charge caught him off guard. He feinted left, went right, and Noku just barely got his staff up in time to block Keith’s swing. Keith fell back and they circled each other for a moment, each making a feint or two towards the other as they went. Noku grew impatient and drove forward. Keith danced out of the way. Noku’s momentum pulled him further forward than he had intended and Keith made a sweep at his legs from behind. He tripped and Keith pressed his advantage, coming in closer to try and strike at his ribs, but Noku regained his footing faster than Keith had anticipated and swung his staff around, striking Keith in the shoulder.

            There was a burst of hot pain, and then Keith’s entire arm went numb and fuzzy. The staff dropped from his limp fingers and rolled away. He dove aside just in time to avoid another strike, this one aimed at his head. He retreated quickly, trying to roll his right shoulder around and get feeling back into his arm.

            “Is that all you’ve got, soft-clawed little runt?” Noku snarled. He closed the distance. Keith’s shoulder was still throbbing, but he could move his arm again. He didn’t bother replying to Noku, just kept slipping and sliding away from his attacks. He was carefully not letting Keith lead him back around to grab his staff off the ground, but Keith didn’t bother trying. Unhindered by the heavy weapon, he was back in his element now. He watched carefully as Noku swung hard and sharp directly at his chest.

Keith dodged under the staff, sliding on his knees, grinning as he spotted his opening. He brought his fist up and drove it into Noku’s side with all his force, coming to his feet as Noku buckled beside him. He grabbed hold of one end of the staff as he went down. He drove a knee into Noku’s forearm, forcing him to lose his grip on the staff. He pulled it triumphantly upward, flipped it, and held it against Noku’s throat. They held eye contact for a long moment before Noku slowly, grudgingly tapped the floor to indicate surrender. Keith stood up, still holding the staff, and graciously offered his hand.

            “Ten to three, Noku,” he said, not worried if he could smell the satisfaction rolling off him. “When do you want me to kick your ass next?” Noku gripped the offered hand, but then suddenly his claws tightened around Keith’s forearm like a vice. He flipped Keith over him. Keith’s back hit the floor with stunning force, driving all the air from his lungs. As he tried to blink the stars from his eyes, Noku’s foot came down on the hand still holding the staff. There was a loud crack. A strangled scream broke from Keith’s throat as hot arrows of pain shot up his nerves. He heard the staff rolling away across the floor. Noku’s knees landed heavily on his chest, driving the air out of his lungs again. He gasped, all his limbs uncoordinated. One hand came down to restrain Keith’s uninjured arm. Keith tried to get his legs up, to kick or push Noku off him, but Noku shifted back so his weight pressed his hips into the floor. Keith’s lower legs twitched impotently, unable to get off the ground. With his free hand, Noku punched Keith full force across the face. His vision blurred and his cheek burned. He punched Keith again and Keith felt his jaw push almost to the breaking point, bones shifting underneath his skin. Before he could catch his breath, another punch came, and then another, and then another. In desperation, Keith tried to grab blindly at Noku’s arm with his injured hand, but Noku slapped it away. A screech tore from his lips as his broken fingers bent backward. Noku’s next punch caught his wide-open mouth and Keith felt one of his teeth rip out, filling his mouth with blood. His arm flopped limply to the floor. He twitched, spitting blood and trying to gasp for air. Just as Noku raised his fist again the entire training room flooded with bright white light.

            Noku yowled, rolling off of Keith. He went to his knees, pressing his face against the floor and wrapping his arms around his head, trying to blot out the light. Keith hissed in pain, spitting blood between his teeth. He curled into a fetal position, dragging his injured hand close to his chest, and squeezed his eyes shut. The light went off within a few seconds, and the door opened to four Blades who strode purposefully in. Noku was still on the ground, shivering with pain. Keith pulled himself to his knees and struggled to get to his feet, the afterimage of the white light still glowing in his eyes. His legs trembled beneath him.

            Suddenly, Ulaz was there beside him, helping him up, supporting his good arm and his back. He turned furiously to Noku, being helped to his feet by the three other Blades. Keith’s nose was filled with blood and probably broken, but even through that he could smell the fury rolling off Ulaz. He watched through rapidly swelling eyes as Ulaz unleashed wrath in a way he had never seen before.

            “What the hell were you doing, Noku?” he shouted. “Were you trying to kill him? This is _despicable_. Keith is still a kit, Noku, and barely half your size. You ought to be teaching him, not taking out your frustration with your own failings on him.” Noku, one arm slung over one of the other Blades’ shoulders, looked up at him dully, the yellow in his eyes dimmed. “If you ever pull a stunt like this again I will ensure the Blade sends you to the furthest, hottest, deserted rock in the entire universe to live out your days in isolation and misery.” The Blade supporting Noku murmured something to him, and Noku shot one glare at Keith before limping out of the training room. The other two Blades lingered.

            “You can’t make threats like that to fellow Blades, Ulaz,” one of them said quietly. “It is not disciplined. It does not help our cause.”

            “Neither does beating one of us to within an inch of his life out of a grudge.” The two Blades glanced at each other.

            “Keith is not a Blade yet,” the other observed.

            “Bullshit,” Ulaz said. “He’s Zami’s kit, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s mine too. He’s grown up with all of us. This is his home, and when he’s old enough, he’ll pass the trials better than any of us did.” Keith clutched at Ulaz’s arm, thankful. Ulaz glanced down and saw him swaying, struggling to remain on his feet. A large drop of blood ran out of his nose and down across his lips. “I’m taking Keith to get cleaned up. Then I’m going to talk to Kolivan.” Before Keith could protest, Ulaz had bent down and caught Keith’s legs, pitching him onto his back. Too tired and too hurt to insist he could walk, Keith pulled his good arm over Ulaz’s shoulder and hung on to his chest as he stood. He let his other arm hang limp down the side, his wrist bent out to keep his fingers from getting jostled. Ulaz carried him piggyback to his little apartment, where he sat him down on top of the table. He rooted around in a couple drawers before he triumphantly pulled out a portable nanotech healing capsule. He gently set Keith’s hand on the top and activated the capsule. The nanotech swarmed around and encased his hand, latching closed. A few moments later, his fingers went blessedly numb. He sighed in relief, feeling the bones knit painlessly back together. Meanwhile, Ulaz filled a bag with ice, wrapped it in a towel, and passed it to him.

            “Put this on your face,” he said. Keith paused, trying to figure out which part of his face felt the most on fire, and held it up to his left cheekbone. His fur felt sticky and wet. Ulaz came back with a damp cloth and began to carefully wipe away the blood. Keith hissed when he touched his throbbing nose. “You’ll probably want to wear the healing capsule on your face overnight. It can heal the broken nose, but I’m afraid that tooth is probably gone forever. Keith stuck his tongue into the bloody gum, the empty space of his last sharp tooth before they transitioned into the blunter teeth in the back of his mouth.

            “Why did Noku do that?” he asked. His jaw was stiff with swelling, making it difficult to talk. His words slurred unnaturally. “Why does he hate me so much?” Ulaz paused, the bloody cloth in his hand staining his fur.

            “Noku is very angry about many things. The true cause of his anger is Zarkon’s Empire and its role in the destruction of his planet, but he cannot always take his anger out on them. Therefore, he focuses it on anything he thinks prevents him from tearing down the Empire with his own two hands.” Ulaz continued wiping his face clean. Keith flinched away as the cloth made a cut across his cheek sting. “He thinks you are a drain on the Blade’s time and resources, and that you have not earned your place here. He got angry that someone he thinks only drags our organization down could beat him so often at sparring – especially since you are still a kit, and, to his mind, a runt.”

            “Am I a drain on time and resources?” Keith asked, eyes downcast. Ulaz titled his chin up gently.

            “No.” He brushed the bangs out of Keith’s eyes. “Nor are you a runt. You are unusual, certainly, but there is nothing wrong with that.” He tenderly wiped a trickle of blood away from his eyebrow. Keith shifted the ice down to his jaw. “Of course I wish you had been able to grow up with your real parents, but it has brought me a great deal of joy to raise you. You are very special to me, Keith, and I think you will grow up to be someone truly extraordinary.” Keith set down the bag of ice, his face tingling, and pushed Ulaz’s hand away so that he could reach up and wrap his good arm around his neck. He pulled him into a one-armed hug, resting his relatively uninjured forehead against Ulaz’s chest.

            “I think you’re my real parent,” he said, his voice muffled by Ulaz’s chest and the swelling in his jaw. Ulaz squeezed him gently.

            “Come on,” he said, extracting himself from the hug. “Let’s see how your fingers are doing.”

            “Ulaz?” he said.

            “Yes, my little kit?”

            “What if I _don’t_ grow up to be someone extraordinary? What if I’m just me? What if I don’t pass the trials? Will I have to leave?”

            “You will always have a home here. You are one of us whether you awaken a blade or not.” He pressed the ice bag into Keith’s hand and moved it back to his jaw. “Everyone has something incredible they can do, even if others do not recognize it. The important part is finding your own purpose.” He paused, holding Keith’s hand, still wrapped in the nanotech capsule. “It would make me so proud if you joined us in our battle against Zarkon. But I want you to be happy, Keith. More than anything.” Keith nodded solemnly, not sure he understood everything Ulaz had said, but wanting to seem like he had. The healing capsule beeped and retracted, freeing his fingers. He flexed them cautiously. They were stiff and still slightly numb but they no longer hurt. He breathed a sigh of relief.

            “Food goo for dinner tonight,” Ulaz announced. Keith whined behind his teeth. “With the way your jaw is swelling, you won’t be able to chew anything. And the capsule will have to go on your face overnight to heal up all the bruising and your nose. Keep ice on it for now.”

            “Fine,” Keith sighed. He switched the ice over to his newly healed hand to press it onto the other side of his jaw. “What are you going to do about Noku?” Ulaz paused in the middle of rinsing off the cloth, water running over his hands and turning red.

            “I’m not going to do anything, at least for the moment,” he replied finally. “I’ll make sure Kolivan knows what happened and if he ever tries to hurt you again, he won’t ever set foot on this base afterward. But I made enough of a spectacle of myself that I think he understood he crossed a line. I may not like him, but he’s a valuable fighter. We don’t want to lose him if we don’t have to.” Keith nodded, his eyes downcast once again. Ulaz shut off the water and walked over to cup Keith’s cheek in his hand. “He will not hurt you again,” he said. “I promise I won’t let that happen.” He hesitated. “But perhaps it would be best not to spar with him again.” Keith nodded, and then winced as he inadvertently pressed a tender spot on his cheek into Ulaz’s claw.

            “I won’t,” he said.

            Ulaz was right about the food goo. Even just getting a spoon in between his lips made his jaw ache. He couldn’t have imagined chewing. By the time he went to bed, the healing capsule swarming over his face, his cheeks and his jaw felt like they were twice their normal size and stiff as a Balmeran with a backache. He crawled into the nest of pillows and blankets, grateful for the numbness spreading through his tender muscles. His eyes, the only part of his face left uncovered by the capsule, drifted closed within seconds, as he sunk gratefully into the softness of his nest.

            He awoke disoriented, muscles he didn’t even know he had so sore he could barely move. His face was numb and cold as the healing capsule was pulled off of it. Someone shook his shoulder, whispering his name. He blinked groggily.

            “Ulaz?” he mumbled. He felt sluggish and the muscles in his jaw weren’t quite obeying his will. “’s going on?”

            “Keith, wake up,” Ulaz whispered. “I have to go.”

            “Go? Go where? Am I coming with you?” he asked. He squinted, trying to make out Ulaz’s shape in the darkness. His eyes glowed bright. Keith breathed in sharply through his nose – clear of blood now – and smelled a confusing whirl of urgency and worry.

            “No, Keith,” Ulaz said. “The Blade is sending me on a mission.”

            “Oh.” Keith yawned, relieved to find that stretching his jaw no longer caused him pain. “When will you be back?”

            “I’m not sure,” Ulaz said. “This is a different kind of mission, Keith. I’ll be going deep undercover. I might not be able to come home for years.” Keith came fully awake, clutching at Ulaz’s arm.

            “What?” he asked, alarmed. “Why?”

            “There’s an opportunity to place a Galra high within the ranks of the druids, as their overseeing officer. The Blade needs someone with an understanding of quintessence magic and the history of the druids. This isn’t an opportunity we can lose.”

            “But you were supposed to stay here. You’re supposed to be here until I’m sixteen and I can pass the trials, and take me to Earth—”

            “I know,” Ulaz said, brushing his hand along Keith’s hair. “I’m sorry, Keith, but I have to do this. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

            “ _When_?” Keith demanded. Ulaz hesitated.

            “I don’t know,” he said. Keith scrambled to his feet.

            “Noku did this, didn’t he?” he said. “He got you sent away somehow.” Ulaz put his hands on Keith’s shoulders.

            “Don’t try to go after Noku, Keith. Don’t antagonize him.”

            “But—!”

            “ _Promise me_ , Keith,” Ulaz said. There was something heavy in his scent, something Keith had never smelled before. He hung his head.

            “I promise,” he said. Ulaz breathed out a sigh of relief. He quickly pulled Keith into a crushing hug.

            “I’ll send messages as often as I can,” he said.

            “I’ll miss you,” Keith said, squeezing Ulaz tightly, wondering if maybe he could just hang on long enough, he would stay.

            “Be brave while I am gone, my little star-crossed kit,” Ulaz whispered. Then, abruptly, Keith’s arms were empty. He sat in the nest, tears brimming in his eyes and anger at Noku burning in his stomach. Abruptly, he jumped to his feet and ran into the hall, calling Ulaz’s name. He sprinted down the hall to the elevator, but it was taking too long to arrive, so he threw open the door to the maintenance ladder and scrambled up it as fast as his legs would take him. He fell into the hangar entryway with a gasp and saw the doors of a transport sliding closed. He sprinted for it, calling for Ulaz, but someone caught the back of his shirt.

            “Calm down, kit,” Antok said, holding him in place. Keith kept trying to run, trying to rip his shirt from Antok’s claw, even as the transport took off into space.

            “Ulaz!” he cried. The tears had spilled over onto his cheeks. “Ulaz, wait! Please!” Antok’s tail swept in front of him, pushing him back.

            “He has no time. He shouldn’t have even gone down to see you, but he insisted he had to say goodbye or he wasn’t leaving.” Keith turned his tearful face to Antok.

            “He can’t leave. He told me he wouldn’t leave. Not yet.”

            “Things changed,” Antok said simply. “Thace sent us news of an opportunity we could not afford to miss. Ulaz is fulfilling his duty as a Blade.”

            “I don’t care,” Keith said. The floor was cold under his bare feet. He stopped fighting, staring after the departed transport, tears running down his cheeks. “I want him back.” His ears drooped and he hung his head. “I don’t want to be alone.”

            “Keith,” a deep voice said behind him. Keith jumped and turned. Antok let go of his shirt and swept his tail back behind him. Kolivan knelt down in front of him, his braid almost brushing the floor.

            “Kolivan,” Keith whispered, hurriedly wiping the tears away from his eyes. “I’m sorry I bothered you,” he muttered.

            “It’s alright,” Kolivan said. “I’m sorry Ulaz had to leave, but this is still your home. We will still take care of you.” Keith sniffled.

            “Noku will try to make me leave next,” he said. Kolivan and Antok glanced at each other.

            “What do you mean?” Kolivan asked.

            “Noku hates me. And he hates Ulaz. And Ulaz protects me. He made Ulaz leave, I know he did. Now he’s going to try to make me leave too.”

            “Noku did make the suggestion that it be Ulaz to fill the position,” Antok said, no inflection in his voice.

            “Yes, but he had solid reasoning for his logic,” Kolivan said. “Ulaz left to serve our cause. Can you understand that, Keith?”

            “I can understand it. I just don’t think it’s true,” Keith replied. Kolivan and Antok looked between each other and him.

            “No one is going to make you leave, Noku or anyone else,” Kolivan said finally. “I promise you that.” He stood up and offered his hand to Keith. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

            “Thank you, but I’m fine,” Keith said dully. “I can walk back on my own.” He left Kolivan and Antok looking after him and walked slowly to the elevator.

            Back on his hall, Noku was waiting. Keith refused to look at him, walking past as if he wasn’t even there, but he felt Noku’s eyes on him. He hated that cold smell of distance and indifference that surrounded him – except when he lost control of himself.

            “Are you alright, kit? I heard you calling for Ulaz.” Keith did not lift his eyes. He wouldn’t betray his promise to Ulaz while he could still smell his scent lingering on his clothes. “Such a shame he had to leave. Still, it was time. He’s stayed here caring for you for too long. He’s too valuable for the Blade to let him fester uselessly in their base.”

            “Ulaz didn’t _fester_ ,” Keith said. “And _he_ wasn’t _useless_.”

            “The kit has teeth,” Noku observed. “Although I think there’s one less now. I saw one go flying earlier, didn’t I?” Keith’s fists tightened until his claws dug into the palms of his hands. “I didn’t know you don’t even bleed the right color.”

            “You’re not going to provoke me, Noku,” he said, a growl burning through his words. “You may not think so, but I’m smarter than that.” He finally turned to glare at Noku. “In four years, I’m going to go through those trials. And I will leave you so far in the dust that you’ll give up and sit down to nurse your grudge against me for the rest of your days.”

            Keith marched into his room, letting the door shut behind him and slamming the button to lock it before Noku got a chance to come after him and try to punch him again. He leaned against the closed door, sighing in relief. His grief at Ulaz’s absence bubbled in his chest, and he slid down to the floor. He dropped his head onto his knees, wincing when he found his cheeks were still a little tender. He shuddered once, through his entire body, and felt tears leak out the corners of his eyes.

            Tomorrow he would go back to training. Tomorrow he would face down Noku unafraid. But just for tonight, he had to mourn the loss of the only parent he had ever known.

            Keith was so hypnotized by the grave dance that it didn’t quite register to him when Lance stopped moving. It wasn’t until Lance walked up to him, head tilted and a self-conscious smile on his face, and offered his hand to help Keith up, that he blinked and came back to himself. He stared at the offered hand, uncertain, and lightly grasped just the fingertips, jumping back to his feet.

            “It’s an Altean tradition, dancing for the dead,” Lance explained. Pink dusted his cheeks beneath his brown skin. A sheen of sweat glistened over the top, making him shine in the starlight. “I do it every day, now. For all the Alteans who died.” Keith realized with a start their fingers were still clasped together and pulled his hand back. Lance’s scent filled the air between them. It was strange, sharp and sweet and heady. Keith had trouble picking out his emotions, flavored and changed by his Altean blood as they were.

            “It’s… it was beautiful,” he said. Lance’s eyes lit up.

            “Thank you,” he said warmly. “It’s… been a long time since someone saw me do a grave dance. With the rebels I’m normally just on my own.”

            There were no lights in the window room, only the burning light of the star behind them, casting broken blue shadows across the floor. Lance’s face was fractured by the light, his hair and cheek marks almost fluorescent. Keith found his eyes caught by deep dark blue, gazing at him with an intensity he couldn’t identify. In a moment, he experienced something akin to déjà vu – except that wasn’t quite it. He felt, for a moment, as if he could almost flash forward in time, and know this was not the last time he and Prince Lance would stand here. This was not the last time the two of them would talk under the light of the blue star. The moment fixed in his mind, complete and detailed. He memorized the pattern of light as it skimmed over Lance’s face.

            He stepped backward, through the door and out of the window room, into the dimly lit hallway. “I can take you back to your room, now,” he said. Lance blinked, and then nodded. He turned to take one last admiring look up at the view, and then paused. He crossed the room purposefully, coming so close to the glass he nearly pressed his nose against it. Keith took a hesitant step after him. Lance pointed up.

            “An Empire ship!” he shouted. Caution abandoned, Keith rushed forward, having visions of the base being invaded, of Thace – or, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind, Ulaz – discovered and tortured, of the Blade scattered, so many decapheebs of careful work undone…

            He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted what Lance was talking about. The ship was nothing more than a single cargo ship, drifting by far away from the Blade’s headquarters. They wouldn’t know anything was there unless they figured out the exact coordinates to scan. The black holes and the star ensured there was too much interference otherwise. And there was no reason for them to scan and look for anything anyway. His fur relaxed.

            “It’s just a cargo ship,” he said, a little peeved at Lance for raising the alarm like that. “This isn’t a regular shipping route, but with the Empire as big as it is, we see one in the distance every once in a while.” It was the only way Thace found an excuse to come to this corner of the universe once every few years. “They won’t spot us. And even if they did, they wouldn’t know who we are.” Lance turned to look at him, dark eyes shimmering in reflected starlight.

            “But shouldn’t we go after it? Shoot it down, steal their supplies?” Keith stared at him.

            “And give away our position? Are you crazy or stupid?” Lance flinched and Keith felt his stomach sink.

            “We have to take every opportunity we can to strike at the Empire,” he insisted, his jaw muscles tightening. “Not to mention, the rebels _always_ need supplies.” He glanced around the room. “A problem _your_ lot doesn’t seem to have.”

            “ _My_ —” Keith bristled again. “Taking down that ship would be a major strategic error that would cause far more problems than it could possibly solve.”

            “And you’re an expert in military tactics?” Lance asked.

            “I’ve lived my whole life on this base! I’ve clearly learned more than _you_ , growing up in a fancy palace, _Your Majesty_.” Keith knew Lance couldn’t smell his annoyance so he layered it as thickly into his words as he could. The instant he said those last two words, though, something terrible passed over Lance’s face. He took a step back as if slapped.

            “Don’t,” he said, his voice thick and fervent. The dark blue eyes seemed to glow in the starlight. “Don’t you _dare_ call me that. Do you understand me? You don’t _ever_ call me that.”

            “My apologies, Prince Lance,” Keith said, stiff and mocking. Lance’s hands balled into fists at his sides and for a moment Keith thought he was going to hit him. Then he glanced out of the window again.

            “Take me to Kolivan so we can raid that ship,” he ordered.

            “No,” Keith said. “Even if he was willing to do that, which he wouldn’t be, you can’t. The path out isn’t open right now.” They stared each other down for a long moment. The cargo ship passed by, growing smaller and smaller. Lance’s eyes flicked to it just as it was about to disappear from sight, and then he returned his glare to Keith.

            “Fine,” he said. “You guys play the long game. The rebels told me that, warned me about it. You want to waste a perfectly good opportunity to deal damage to the Empire in favor of extreme caution. Fine. Get me the hell out of this room.”

            “Of course, Prince Lance,” Keith spat.

            The two of them stayed quiet on the elevator ride down. Keith sniffed for Murloz, possibly waiting to ambush them as soon as the doors opened, but the hallway was blessedly empty. Lance stopped at one of the normally empty apartments a few doors down from Keith’s. He paused outside the door.

            “What’s your name, anyway?”

            For half a moment, Keith considered giving him a different name – Noku, perhaps – but that would only backfire in the long run. All Lance had to do was describe him as “the short one” and everyone would know who he meant.

            “Keith,” he said, grudgingly.

            “Keith,” Lance repeated to himself. Then he was gone, disappeared inside the apartment. Keith curled his hands into fists. Diplomatic incident or no, a part of him wished he’d punched the pretty Altean prince right between the cheek marks.

 

            Keith bit back a shout of pain as he curled his hand in towards himself. The claw on his fourth finger hung off, clinging on by a thread. Gritting his teeth, he ripped it free. A small bead of red blood swelled beside his nail bed. He grimaced and turned his attention back towards a hesitating Olvarak.

            “Go on, again,” he growled through his teeth. Olvarak shifted uncomfortably.

            “Maybe we shouldn’t practice this maneuver,” he said, lowering his blade. “With your claws—”

            “I can do it,” Keith insisted. “I’ll figure it out.”

            “Let me help,” someone said, and all the fur on the back of Keith’s neck stood up.

            He’d avoided even being in the same room as Noku for cycles upon cycles now. He hadn’t heard so much as a word about Ulaz since he left, and his absence wore on him like waves against a cliff. His fingers still ached with phantom pain every time he smelled Noku’s cold scent. The prospect of confronting him was enough to drive Keith to hide in his room, avoiding the rest of the base for fear of running into him. No one cared much, now that Ulaz was gone – no one was watching to see where Keith went or what he did. So long as he showed up to training sessions, that was his only obligation. He’d taken to doubling or even tripling up on training sessions, just to fill the time. It was that or sit in his room while Ulaz’s comforting scent slowly disappeared, rereading books he already knew cover to cover.

            He fell back a step as Noku entered the training ring, Olvarak was glancing between the two of them nervously. Noku stepped toward him, closing the distance faster than Keith could create it without actually running away.. Keith sniffed cautiously and his eyes widened. There was no anger threading through Noku’s scent – in fact, there was a hint of contrition. Grudging, perhaps, but present nonetheless. Keith stayed still and stiff as Noku came up to him and took hold of his hand gently, examining the broken claw. The blood was matted against his fur now. Noku dropped his hand and looked up at him.

            “By now, you should probably accept that your claws and teeth will never grow to be as hard or as sharp as a regular Galra’s. On the plus side, we’ve seen that your claws grow back much faster than most of ours.” He glanced over at Olvarak. “But that means that you can’t do this exercise without hurting yourself. Your claws are going to break on the armor, rather than be able pierce the gaps.” He reached behind him, grasping the hilt of his sword and retracting it into a knife, which he held out. Keith took it warily. “But that just means we have to adjust the exercise to play to your strengths. If you get caught, you won’t be able to overpower most Galra with sheer strength, and you can’t use your claws except on bare skin. Olvarak, if you would…? Yes, hold him, exactly like we’ve been doing. But you’re slippery enough to be able to draw a blade, especially if you have more than one on you. Let’s say you have it sheathed in the back of your belt, like this… Then, yes, you can twist your arm free like you’ve been practicing already, and then put that speed of yours to good use to— yes, if you can reach around – yes, like that – and get into the weak spot in his armor with the _knife_ – yes, exactly.” Keith pierced the blade through the practice armor, hitting Olvarak’s protective padding. Olvarak grinned and let go of him.

            “Thanks,” Keith muttered, holding the knife out. Noku crossed his arms.

            “Not until you’ve done that at least ten more times.” Keith pulled his hand back, staring at Noku.

            “Why the sudden benevolence?” he asked. Suspicion flooded his scent. Noku sighed.

            “Because Ulaz was right about one thing. You’re just stubborn enough that you might turn out to be the best fighter we’ve got.”

 

            Keith stumbled out of the trials bruised and battered and bleeding. Strong arms waited to catch him, his new blade heavy in his hand. Kuloz was crowing with victory, slinging Keith’s arms around his shoulder.

            “I think you set a record in there!” he said. “We were running out of people to send up to fight you. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone go through the test of mental strength that fast. You didn’t buy that Ulaz was really there for a _second_ , you just— Uh, are you okay?” Keith hurriedly reached up and swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, keeping the sword hanging downward.

            “Sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Tears are a human thing. I’m… I’m just happy.” He managed a smile that Kuloz returned with a grin.

            “Damn right!” he said. “Let’s get you into a healing pod. You’re a little lightly stabbed all over the place.”

            “Swords against a knife,” Keith managed, struggling for breath. His shoulder ached with his arm around the much taller Kuloz. “No fair.” Kuloz laughed.

            “Well, it’s the last time you’ll need to do it,” he said. “Come on. There’ll be a big celebratory dinner later tonight, once you’re all healed up.”

            “Sounds good,” Keith said. He blinked back the burning in his eyes, willing away the tears that threatened to continue to spill down his cheeks. A few hours dreamless sleep in a healing pod sounded like the perfect escape. As they moved down the hallway, though, someone stepped in front of them. Keith looked up wearily.

            “Keith,” Kolivan rumbled. “This is for you.” Keith unhooked his arm from around Kuloz, his legs shivering underneath him, and reached out to take the computer chip.

            “Thank you,” he said, certain his bone weariness was evident even in his voice. Kolivan’s expression softened slightly.

            “Well done, Keith,” he said. “Allow me to welcome you officially into the Blade of Marmora.” Keith just nodded, his energy spent.

            He convinced Kuloz that he could leave him alone in the med bay and that he didn’t need an audience while he stripped and put on a pod suit. Once he was safely out of the room, Keith sat down heavily and slid the chip into one of the computers. Through lines of static, an image of Ulaz appeared.

            “Keith,” he said. “If Kolivan has given you this, that means that you passed your trials. Congratulations! I’m so sorry I can’t be there to see it. I still plan to take you to Earth one day. I promise. Stay safe, stay strong. I’m proud of you.” The message clicked off.

            Keith sat there unmoving for a long time before the blood trickling down and staining the floor finally prompted him to climb inside a healing pod. He had never felt so cold.

 

            Prince Lance and the drifters left the next day with almost as much fanfare as they had had upon their arrival. Kolivan shook Lance’s hand and exchanged a few last quiet words while the rest of the Blade stood around the hall, hoods and masks on. Keith saw Lance just barely glance in his direction and cursed his stature. He was too easy to pick out, barely half as tall as the rest of the Galra. But Lance had turned and left, the other drifters trailing after him, before Keith could react. As soon as the door to their ship closed, the rest of the Blade sighed. Masks retracted and hoods dropped. Murloz, standing next to Keith, reached up and shrank down his blade, his ears flicking in the open air.

            “I still can’t believe they _found_ him,” he said, wonderingly. “I mean, he was alive, all this time, just in a pod somewhere? That’s _wild_.” He grinned at Keith, sharp teeth gleaming. “Where was he going last night? What did you talk about? What’s he like in person? I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance to talk with him. And Rutha didn’t even remember what she had wanted to talk about!” Keith shrugged, shriking down his own blade.

            “I took him to the memorial in the window room,” he said. “We didn’t talk much.”

            “Oh come on,” Murloz whined. “Tell me about it.”

            “You’re like a gossipy elder, Murloz,” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “He’s a ten thousand-year-old prince from a different planet. We don’t exactly have a lot in common. It’s not like we struck up… friendly banter or anything like that.”

            “You’re no fun, Keith,” Murloz scolded. “You need to get off this base more. Make some friends that don’t spend all their time fighting an ancient galactic empire.” Keith laughed hollowly.

            “There’s no escaping the Empire these days, Murloz. You should know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look I'm still working on this after all :P Like I said up front, I make no promises about this updating frequently, but I still love playing with this AU and doing world-building, so keep an eye out for whenever I get a chance to add to this!
> 
> Please leave comments, I love hearing what you guys think!


	4. The Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few important things--
> 
> I went back through the first couple chapters and edited out a couple slips where I used real time measures (day, hour, minute, etc), instead of those from the show. Until we get to Shiro, I'm going to try and use the alien time measures. See the end note for a glossary.
> 
> I also went back and changed the name of the rebel leader in Ch1, because it was a little too similar to Haggar's name. They're called Pa'lam now. (Their name was only mentioned once so this shouldn't be too big of a deal)
> 
> CW for emetophobia in this chapter. Nothing graphic, it's just mentioned.

            “Alright, everybody, up you go, one at a time, come on, come on, keep moving. Up you get, little one, that’s it, your mommy’s right here. Whoa – it’s okay, don’t be alarmed, we’ve still got plenty of time. Keep moving, keep moving. Watch out—”

            Hunk staggered as another tremor shook through the ground beneath him, accompanied by a ghostly wailing from the center of the poor, dying Balmera. He swept his long tail sideways, trying to keep his balance. The rebel soldier up ahead flicked its second set of eyes to the ground, looking haggard, while the first stayed fixed on the trudging line of Balmerans as they shuffled toward the ships.

            “Vex!” Wren cursed as she tripped, throwing a hand against Hunk’s shoulder to steady herself. He gently set her back on her feet. “Curse these Galra,” she muttered. “Balmera could have given them crystals for millennia if they performed the energy replenishing rituals.” The Balmera groaned under their feet. In the distance, abandoned Galra mining equipment crashed to the ground. “What do we do now?” She lifted her hands in supplication.

            “There are other Balmeras,” Hunk said softly, tilting his head back. A sun burned pale and distant, sinking into the horizon. Faint pricks of light glimmered in the sky, a roadmap of distant stars. “The rebels said they will find us new homes.”

            “Not _our_ Balmera. Not _our_ home,” Wren said. Hunk looked back down at her. She was nearly his height, with unusually sharp jaw spikes curving down to frame her face, and a short tail just barely visible between her legs. Two thick earrings dangled from her ears. She was staring across the devastated Balmera, pockmarked with craters and mining shafts where the Galra had torn the crystals out. As they watched, another precarious structure broke and collapsed, tumbling down with a crash. Balmera groaned in response. Even through his feet, Hunk could feel its distress, and the fear of all those left on the surface. He knelt and pressed a hand against the ground, wishing he could somehow soothe its pain. Only the faintest turquoise glow answered his thoughts. Wren tapped his shoulder.

            “Come on,” she said. “The line is moving.” He got to his feet with a sigh.

            The Galra had abandoned the planet to its fate just yester-quintant, when the tremors grew severe and frequent enough that their equipment began to collapse just as quickly as they could fix it. The Balmerans had huddled in the tunnels with their families, passing messages of love to one another, and waited for the end. The rebels had arrived with only vargas to spare, opening their ships and pleading with the Balmerans to escape. Hunk had followed them, cautiously walking into the open air for the first time in his life. The sky had dazzled him. It glowed pale green, with clouds drifting across it, colored by reflected light. Most of the Balmerans had been left speechless for a few seconds before the harried rebels managed to herd them into lines to get aboard their ships.

            Not everyone was leaving. Hunk could hear them, through the ground. Elderly couples, families more afraid of open space than death, Balmerans who simply could not bear the thought of abandoning their home. They huddled quietly in the tunnels, wishing all who left might find a happier life. Hoping, for their sake, that somewhere in the universe still knew peace. The Balmera trembled again and Hunk could hear rocks falling, tunnels collapsing. It wouldn’t be long now.

            He barely even noticed reaching the rebel ship. He’d lost track of Wren in the crowd. A soldier held out a hand to help pull him on board. He stared at it for a moment, the four-eyed soldier giving him a nudge he barely felt and harassing him to keep the line moving. Swallowing hard, he reached up a hand, grasped the alien’s gnarled fingers, and stepped up into the ship.

            He felt it the moment his feet left the ground. He could no longer sense the Balmera, or the thoughts and feelings of those who walked on her. Now, it was simply a pile of rock, floating through space, falling apart. He turned back, feeling his heart swell painfully, and almost leaped back out of the ship. He understood, suddenly, why people wanted to stay. He couldn’t fly into the empty silence of space. He couldn’t cut himself off, not like that, loose and alone, an island in a sea of inky black and faint stars. Better to die with his home. The universe had decided its time was done, and so surely that meant his should be done too.

            Before he could do anything, another Balmeran was pulled up behind him. Hunk was swept up in the crowd and pulled away from the door, further and further into the ship. By the time he could stop and look around, he was in some vast, metallic chamber, packed so full of Balmerans there was scarcely room to move. There were no windows. Within a few dobashes, there was shouting from the rebels, and the door closed. No more room on this ship. That had scarcely happened before engines rumbled beneath them and they lifted into the air. The Balmerans gasped and murmured in collective terror. The ship rose and rose and rose, and then abruptly jerked forward in what must have been a warp jump. They’d left Balmera behind before Hunk could process what was happening. He didn’t even get one last look back at his home.

            “Name?”

            “Hunk.”

            “Corner?”

            “North– uh, Northeast downs.”

            “Second door on the left. Next.”

            “Wait, please – have you seen this one’s sister?” The small blue alien paused, fingers poised over their keyboard. “Her name is Wren. We were in line together but this one lost track of her getting onto the ship.”

            “You’ll have to find her yourself,” they said. “Next.”

            “I just want to know if she is—”

            “ _Next_.”

            Hunk sighed, shoved aside by another Balmeran. He turned and trudged down the arched stone hallway, following the scattered lines of Balmerans. They kept their heads down, tails hanging low, pulling unhappily at loose threads on their ragged canvas vests.

            The second door on the left was a heavy metal affair, left halfway open. A crowd of Balmerans milled about a room lit green with old, buzzing lamps. Hunk slid in quietly, unnoticed. He recognized maybe half of the others. Standing on tiptoe, he looked over their heads for Wren. He was so distracted scanning the crowd that the elbow to the ribs almost knocked him over.

            “There you are,” Wren said. “I was beginning to think you had gotten lost.”

            “Wren!” Hunk gasped in relief, wrapping her in a hug. “I was worried about you!” He could feel her rolling her eyes, but she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him fervently and burying her face into his shoulder.

            “I am here,” she murmured. Hunk dug his fingers into her back. There was an imposed distance between the two of them without Balmera beneath their feet. He could see her, and hear her, and touch her, but those were all external sensations. They all paled in comparison to the gentle brush of her thoughts, carried through the Balmera, vibrating through him. Did every other species in the world feel this lonely, trapped in a tiny little bubble, constrained forever by their own skin? “Shhh.” Wren rubbed a circle across his back. There were tears sliding down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember starting to cry. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

            “It is gone,” he said. The loss hit him all at once, as if one of the Galra guns had burned a hole straight through him. “It is really, really gone. Forever. How can that be? How can it be gone?” Wren took a step back, holding his hand, and gently led him over to the edge of the room. They slid to the floor and leaned against the wall.

            “Balmera loved us and cared for us as long as it could,” she said. “The Galra took it from us. But they did not take _this_.” She swept her free arm across the room and turned to look at him. “We still have us. You still have me.” Hunk squeezed her hand.

            “You are always right,” he said. She flicked his chin, making him scrunch up his face.         “Now comes the boring part. We will probably be waiting here for vargas on end before anyone tells us anything.”

            Wren was right about the waiting, but she was wrong about the vargas – it was three entire brolls before the Balmerans got any real information. At the end of the first quintant, they were sorted into military style bedrooms with two sets of bunk beds each and directed to the mess hall. The rebel base they had been brought to was enormous, but most of it was occupied by refugees from other planets with no more knowledge of what was happening than the Balmerans themselves. Hunk started to get anxious, trying hard not to grab a rebel soldier and shake them until some answers came out. Wren bore it better than he did, although she complained more vocally. The other two who shared their room, Pix and Rou, had parents and grandparents and a niece staying in other rooms, and spent most of their time with them. It took Wren and Hunk four quintants to finally find Mert and Hyl, the two Elders who had adopted them when their last parents died in the mines. They found distraction playing with the younger grandchildren, telling them stories and humming to them. At the end of the first broll, a rebel soldier turned up, distributing marbles and small carved wooden figures to the children to play with. The Balmerans stared at these objects with wide eyes. None of them had ever had toys.

            The rebel base was buried in a mountain, and access outside was severely restricted. They were informed by a bored rebel soldier who had clearly given the same speech too many times to count that there was an atmosphere simulator and sun room with settings programmable to most life-sustaining planets. It should be able to provide them with any physical or psychological needs they lacked spending an extended amount of time underground. It could be booked for a varga at a time, and an additional varga for each twenty people planning to use the room. The Balmerans glanced at each other and shrugged. They had spent their entire lives in the tunnels. They did not need to see the sky. Hunk walked past it, once, and paused. He considered it, almost reached out to write down his name for a time late at night, when no one would miss him, but then shook his head and walked on. The only sky he knew was from the moments before his Balmera died.

            It had been two brolls when Hunk first saw him. He and Wren were sitting with their family in the mess hall. Hunk was chasing food goo around his plate with a fork. It might be the most efficient form of sustenance in the universe, but it was painfully bland. Burnt cave bugs had more flavor. Mert was bouncing Kip, the littlest grandchild, on his lap, humming deep in his throat. There was a sudden commotion at the door to the mess hall. Hunk turned his head to see a crowd of people muttering to each other and staring wide-eyed at someone. He half rose out of his seat to get a look, and saw a flash of star-white hair.

            The Balmerans had legends of Voltron, but they were not the stories held near and dear to their hearts. Balmerans had no place in epic tales like that. Most of them knew only vaguely what Altea was, so the frenzied rumors that someone had found Prince Lance of Altea alive a few cycles ago had had little impact on them. While the other refugees and rebels seemed to talk about little else, the Balmerans agreed they weren’t even sure it could be true. Still, Hunk got a glimpse of his face, and there was no mistaking what those cheek marks meant. He sank back into his seat.

            “Prince Lance of Altea is here,” he told Wren. She frowned at him.

            “Why?” she asked. Hunk shrugged.

            “I do not know. Why would I know?” Mert had stopped bouncing Kip.

            “What is he doing?” he asked.

            “I do not know, it looked like he was just trying to get into the door.” Hunk glanced over at the crowd again. “He is getting swarmed,” he noticed. Wren shrugged. Hunk turned back to his food goo and shoved a bite in his mouth before he could think about it.

            It took Prince Lance a long few dobashes to get past the crowd of rebels and refugees and walk into the dining hall. He was accompanied by two rebel soldiers that looked similar to Alteans but for their bare, hairy feet and lack of noses. Hunk watched him out of the corner of his eye. He paused at table after table of refugees, holding brief conversations. None of Hunk’s family was paying him any mind. Kip had taken a handful of food goo and smashed it against Mert’s face. Wren was trying to help Lyr, their sister, with her child. As soon as Prince Lance turned toward them, Hunk ducked his head, staring at his food goo, and jumped when there was a cautious “Hello,” next to him.

            Everyone turned to stare. Prince Lance was dressed for a wedding compared to most of the refugees, wearing a finely woven blue shirt and thick black pants with heavy boots. He was smiling at them, his refracted blue eyes and cheek marks shining into the thin light of the mess hall. His eyes flicked across them. “I’m Lance,” he said. “I’m one of the rebels.”

            “You are an Altean,” Kip said, his eyes wide, pointing at Lance. Hunk thought maybe he winced, imperceptibly. “This one thought there were not any more Alteans.”

            “I’m probably the only one left,” Lance said.

            “Altea was destroyed like Balmera,” Kip said. “That is what Grandpa told this one.” Lance smiled, crouching so he could be eye-level with Kip.

            “That’s right,” he said. “So I’m really glad your whole family got away safely.”

            “I miss Balmera,” Kip said, crossing his arms. “The rooms here smell weird.” Lance nodded.

            “I know. And you probably always will miss your Balmera. But we’re going to help you find a new home, ’kay? One where the rooms smell better, I promise.” Kip glared at him suspiciously.

            “You _promise_?” he asked. Lance nodded, and placed a hand over his heart solemnly.

            “You have my word,” he said. He stood up and looked around at the rest of them. “If you need anything… I know that you’ve been stuck here for a while, but we want to help in any way we can,” he said.

            “Then start killing Galra,” Wren muttered. Hunk stomped on her foot. “ _Ow_!” she shouted, glaring at him.

            “We’re trying,” Lance said. “If you want to help, you’re more than welcome to join up.” Wren frowned.

            “This one does not know anything about fighting,” she said.

            “You could learn. And that’s not the only thing we need help with.” Lance shrugged. “It’s an open offer. Nice to meet all of you.” He turned and left.

            “What was _that_ for?” Wren asked Hunk.

            “Are you seriously thinking about going off to fight the Galra?” he asked at the same time.

            “Better than sitting around here for quintants on end.”

            “ _Wren_. You cannot be serious.”

            “I can be as serious as I want to be,” she said. She poked at her food goo and sighed. “No, I am not going to go off and fight the Galra. Can you picture any of us doing that?”

            “We will find a new home. One where we can be peaceful and happy, and stay out of the Galra’s way,” Hunk said, trying to convince himself as much as her. Wren bumped his shoulder.

            “You always are the sensible one.”

            “Someone around here needs to be.”

            Hunk spotted Prince Lance occasionally over the next broll. He seemed to make it a point to talk to the various refugees that were making their temporary homes in the mountain base, although he never happened by to talk to Hunk or his family again. Otherwise, they continued to pass long quintants of waiting for any kind of news. Hunk tried to volunteer his time in the kitchen, but was brusquely informed that since he wouldn’t be familiar with any of the ingredients or dishes, he would only slow things down. So he sat in his room, growing antsier and antsier until he changed his mind about trying the atmospheric simulator. He snuck out and jotted down his name for a slot late at night, between two empty vargas. He didn’t know why he felt the need to hide what he was doing, but he didn’t particularly feel like explaining himself to Wren either. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t sure why he wanted to go.

            He wasn’t exactly stealthy, but he’d spent enough times helping lull Kip and the others to sleep as babies that he knew how to make a quiet exit from a bedroom. A few yawning rebels were wandering the dark halls, but they paid him no mind. He arrived outside the simulator room just a few dobashes before his hour was scheduled to start. He tapped the computer screen, ready to select what planet’s surface he want the room to emulate, but before he could make a selection, Prince Lance walked out of the room.

            Hunk felt like he jumped straight out of his skin. Lance seemed almost as startled, stumbling backward and spluttering, nearly tripping over his own feet.

            “I thought that—”

            “Sorry, were you—?”

            After several seconds of inarticulate stuttering, interrupting each other, trying to apologize, only to interrupt each other with their apologies, they finally stopped speaking and stared for a moment of silence.

            “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lance said finally. “Were you…?” He gestured toward the room.

            “Oh. Um. Yeah. I mean. You still. This one is early,” Hunk tried to explain. “This one was not waiting. I. Um.” He backed away from the computer. “This one is sorry, I thought the room was not booked. This was dumb.”

            “No, no, I didn’t even— I just couldn’t sleep and came by here and saw the room was empty. It can simulate Altea, so I—” Lance stopped abruptly, his jaw clamping shut. Hunk felt embarrassment clench his entire body.

            “This one will just go,” he mumbled.

            “No, don’t— I didn’t mean to chase you off,” Lance insisted. “Look, I just… We can just go our separate ways. Don’t… don’t worry about it.” He and Hunk stood, facing each other, unsure what either of them was supposed to do next, for a solid few ticks of supremely uncomfortable silence. “Riiiight,” Lance said after a moment. “I’ll just… go… then…”

            “Wait,” Hunk said. “Can you show me Altea?” Lance went rigid.

            “Why?” he asked. Hunk swallowed. He wasn’t great at reading other species’ tones or body language, but the way Lance went taut like a wire made him seem abruptly furious.

            “This one is curious. This one has never known anywhere except the tunnels of Balmera.” Lance stared at him. His cheek marks were luminescent in the dark hallway.

            “Altea’s dead,” he said, his voice flat. “Why would you want to see that?”

            “Balmera is dead too,” Hunk replied.

            There were another long few ticks of silence before Lance strode over and tapped something into the computer. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the door, his expression unreadable. Hunk followed.

            The air instantly tasted fresh and sweet. The ground beneath their feet was soft with long grass that reached up to tickle Hunk’s ankles. They were in a vast field, full of pink flowers. Mountains rose in the distance with clouds drifting around their peaks. A white planet ring arced above them, painting a wide white stroke through the bright blue sky.

            “Allura loved this place,” Lance said, dropping down to sit in the grass. Hunk realized he was staring about slack-jawed, and joined Lance on the ground, lifting his tail up to sweep out behind him. “We used to come have family picnics here. It was one of the few family activities that our father would make time for. He was so lighthearted when we’d come out here.” He plucked up a piece of grass and rolled it between his fingers. “I always preferred the city – being around people, seeing what was happening…” Lance tilted his head back, smiling. “I had this friend down in the city, Revoran, who didn’t know I was the prince for the _longest_ time. I mean, the hair’s a dead giveaway, but I used to braid it up and tuck it under this old hat. A change of clothes later and — bam! Regular Altean. You’d think they’d recognize my face, but they’re always looking at the hair.

            “Anyway, Revoran and I used to play together. I’d have to be super cagey about where I lived, but we got along great. And then one day – it was the _stupidest_ thing – we got into this prank war with some other kids, and I got blasted with a water shooter, and my hat falls off, and I didn’t even _notice_ at first, except that suddenly everyone’s gone very quiet and still, and that’s when I feel all this hair hanging down to my ribs, and I just sort of sheepishly pick up the hat and put it back on.” He paused. His face was soft with a smile and a distant look, staring out past the mountains. “I kept coming, all the same. Eventually Revoran got into it, used to pretend it was this secretive dangerous mission we were on together,” he laughed. “He was going to become a VR architect, making places like this. He got an internship with one of the most respected VR committees on Altea. He smuggled me into their labs and showed me some of the test work he’d gotten to assist on, modelling one of Altea’s moons.” His eyes dropped. “That was about a cycle before the Green Paladin was murdered. I stopped sneaking out after that. I didn’t ever see Revoran again.” The smile faded back into something unreadable. He had shredded the grass in his hand. Hunk reached out and hesitantly stroked a petal on the nearest flower.

            “My second parents adopted me when I was very young. Only about four years old, I think. Wren was barely crawling. My second-mother, Vai, used to tell stories. They had such incredibly vivid detail. She said they’d been passed down from Elder to child for generations, all the way back before the Galra arrived, when our people still walked on the surface.” Hunk plucked the flower carefully, lifting it up to examine it closely. “I could never understand what she was talking about when she told us the stories of Altea. I am not sure she did, either. It was all too far away from us. None of us had ever even seen the sky. She described… white towers, and glass bridges, and silver forests that glimmered in the moonlight. It sounded beautiful, but it was beautiful like a fairy tale, for little children. I was not sure I believed such a place had ever existed. I am still not sure I do.” Lance pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top of them.

            “Sometimes it seems like a dream to me,” he said. “Sometimes it seems like I must have made the whole thing up.” He scratched at the dirt, letting it run through his fingers. “And sometimes it seems like everything since I woke up – the rebels, the war, the Galra – sometimes _that_ all just seems too surreal. It has to be a nightmare. Any minute now, I’m going to wake up, I’m going to be home, and—” He broke off, not looking at Hunk.

            “So,” Hunk said, trying to make his voice light. “Who is your new family? What are they like?” Lance’s eyebrows drew together in a way that Hunk thought meant either anger or confusion.

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “Who adopted you, when the rebels woke you up?” Lance snorted.

            “I’m young, but I’m not a child,” he said. ‘I don’t need babysitters.” Hunk tilted his head, wishing he could send Lance vibrations of his confusion. Articulating everything in words was terrifyingly cumbersome and imprecise.

            “Everyone needs a family, though,” he said. “I am… I think I am confused.” Lance’s eyes were dark when he looked at Hunk. If he hadn’t been angry before, he definitely was now.

            “My family is dead,” he said shortly. Hunk opened his hands in what he hoped Lance understood was a placating gesture.

            “I know,” he said. “So is my first family, and most of my second. Death was common in the mines. But when family members die, others adopt those still living. Mert and Hyl are my grandparents now. No one is left without family.” He paused, frightened by Lance’s suddenly blank expression. “Not on Balmera, at least. Perhaps it is different among Alteans?” Lance’s eyes dropped. He tore out another handful of grass and shredded it.

            “I don’t have a second family,” he said dully. “Alteans only adopt children too young to take care of themselves. No adult gets new parents or grandparents.”

            “You… have _no_ family?” Hunk asked, his eyes so wide even the soft simulator light hurt them. “This one does not understand,” he said, falling back on formal language in his panic and confusion. “It must be unbearably lonely. No Elder on Balmera would stand to see one so outcast.” Lance shrugged, a smile even Hunk could tell he did not feel quirking the edge of his lips.

            “In a way, all the rebels are my family now,” he said. Hunk shook his head.

            “All of Balmera is my family in that way, but it is not the same,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, and then reached over and grabbed Lance’s hand, making him jump. “This one is not technically allowed to do this, because this one is not an Elder,” he said. He hesitated again, embarrassment heating his head. “I also… do not know how I should do this officially without Balmera.” He shook his head. “Prince Lance of Altea,” he said, “This one adopts you as a brother, kin of my kin.” Lance was frozen, staring at their clasped hands.

            “You— you don’t have to—”

            “But I want to,” he insisted. He paused. “Unless— if you do _not_ want me to, then—”

            “No!” Lance yelped. “I mean, I do. This is—” He paused, and took a deep breath. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in 10,000 years.” He took his free hand and clasped it over Hunk’s. “What do I do?” he asked.

            “Just say the same, back to me. Hunk of the Northeast downs—”

            “Hunk of the Northeast downs—”

            “This one adopts you as a brother—”

            “This one adopts you as a brother—”

            “Kin of my kin.”

            “Kin of my kin.”

            Hunk let go of his hand, smiling in embarrassment. “Normally,” he explained, “Normally we tell Balmera, so everyone knows. And normally only an Elder can adopt someone into a family, except if you are just changing positions within a family. If your sister dies, you can adopt your niece as your daughter, without an Elder. Otherwise, an Elder adopts you, and all of their family becomes your family.” His gaze dropped. “But many things are no longer how they used to be.”

            Lance swallowed visibly. “Thank you, Hunk. Jeez, I didn’t even ask your name first. Hunk. I— Thank you.” Abruptly, he threw his arms around Hunk, who flinched in surprise. Once he recovered, he managed to worm his arms out of Lance’s grip and returned the hug, squeezing gently. Lance, for all that Alteans were rumored to be immensely strong, seemed so fragile, so breakable. His slight frame was tiny in Hunk’s grasp.

            The announcement came the next morning, while Hunk was still groggy with only a few short vargas of sleep. There was a planet similar in climate and terrain to Balmera, only sparsely populated by a few non-sapient animals. It was far, far away, on the edge of a distant galaxy, but for that exact reason it was not under Galra control. The rebels believed the Balmerans could build new lives there. Wren hugged Hunk so tightly he could almost feel the relief vibrating right off her skin.

            “It… will not be another Balmera, though?” Hyl asked the rebel soldier. They shook their head.

            “Balmera crystals are precious resources. Galra control all the Balmeras that we know about.”

            “You haven’t attempted to liberate _any_ of them?” Wren asked, twisting around. The alien shook their head again, long neck twisting.

            “We don’t have the resources to fight off an entire occupying and mining force, let alone to hold the Balmera against the troops who would arrive to take it back if we did manage to drive the Galra away. I know this will be different from your old home, but it is a pleasant planet. You should be able to live peacefully there. That is more than many people get these days.” The soldier shifted, staring past them. “You’ll be leaving in three quintants. Be ready to go early in the morning.” They ducked out of the room. Hyl turned to Mert, at a loss for words, twisting her hands in distress. Lyr, Rik, and Mel were dealing with the children, who were rubbing their eyes blearily or asking questions so fast all their sentences overlapped each other into a hopelessly tangled word jumble.

            “We ae never going to feel Balmera under our feet again,” Wren said quietly. “We are— we are—” Her hands stalled in the air, trying to help her express what she wanted to say. She looked up at Hunk helplessly.

            Hunk felt his heart aching. To never hear the other Balmerans’ thoughts again, to never sense the gentle vibrations of the rock under his palm carrying the feelings of his family to him – he would have preferred to chop off a limb. It would sever a connection he was not sure he could bear to lose. And meanwhile, how many other Balmeras lived on the brink of collapse? How many would the rebels not get to in time to save anyone? How many lived in slavery while their Balmera died around them, never to see the sky?

            “Wren,” he said quietly. “There is someone I need to talk to. I will be back soon.”

            “Who?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically, but Hunk had already ducked out of the room.

            It wasn’t hard to find Lance – wherever he went, he tended to get swarmed by curious refugees. Some of the children wanted to touch his hair or his cheek marks, which he was almost shockingly good-natured about, bending down to let their little fingers press lightly against his skin or trail across his scalp. Sometimes they asked questions about Altea, and Hunk would see his smile tighten slightly, but he would still answer, even if he tried to steer the conversation away quickly.

            Hunk, because he sometimes blurted things out before he stopped to think about whether he should really say them, had asked about the hair last night. After he had adopted Lance, they had sat quietly in the room, trading stories of Altea and Balmera. Hunk, eager to confirm whether the tales he had heard about Altea were accurate, had asked if it wasn’t true that Altean nobles wore their hair long. Lance’s face had gone tight for a moment, but it had relaxed as he brought a hand up to run across the back of his head.

            “No, it’s true,” he said. “Our hair is one body part we can’t shapeshift, so it became an indicator of rank because no one could hide what their hair really looked like. After… After I woke up, I cut mine.”

            “Why?”

            “It was impulsive,” he admitted. “It just… I was supposed to be one of their leaders. That’s what the long hair signifies. But I failed them in the worst way a leader could fail. How dare I claim my title when my people are gone? The captain is supposed to go down with the ship.” Hunk stared, tilting his head to show his puzzlement.

            “Lance, you are only sixteen,” he said.

            “Still should’ve done something,” he muttered, his chin on his knees. “I slept away the apocalypse. I was in stasis while my family and every last surviving member of my people died. It would have been better to die fighting Zarkon 10,000 years ago, even if it didn’t make any real difference.”

            “Well, maybe you can make a real difference now,” Hunk said. Lance turned his head to look at him, eyes shining in the artificial sunlight. “You are an inspiration. People look at you, and they see a legend. If legends are real, then perhaps more impossible things can happen.” Lance had shifted his legs underneath him and was sitting up on his knees, shaking his head.

            “If people see a legend when they look at me, they’re seeing Voltron. But I don’t even know if the lions _exist_ anymore, much less where to find them. I’m useless.” Hunk shrugged.

            “Maybe. Or maybe you can be a leader here and now. Maybe the rebels are your people now.” Lance had flopped back in the grass then, going quiet and staring up at the sky. They had stayed quiet for most of the rest of the varga. When the simulation shut off, Hunk opened his arms for one more hug before they parted ways. Lance had told Hunk that if they were going to be brothers, they should spend more time together, and to come find him whenever.

            Lance spotted him over a crowd of young Ipsies, a short furry alien displaced from their planet after the Galra destroyed their riverbank homes to build dams. He waved and held up one finger. Hunk hovered by the wall, a few paces back from the crowd, uncertain, his hands twisting the bottom of his canvas shirt. Lance picked his way past the Ipsies and detached the little ones clinging onto his legs until he made it to Hunk.

            “Hey,” he said, smiling. “I heard they found a planet for you guys.” Hunk nodded slowly.

            “A planet,” he said. “Not a Balmera.” Lance’s expression dropped.

            “I know it won’t be the same,” he said. “But—”

            “Lance, I want you to help me convince the rebels to free one of the occupied Balmeras.” He said it in a rush, his words tripping over one another in his rush to get through it before he lost his nerve. Lance froze, his mouth open, staring at Hunk. He closed his mouth, licked his lips, blinked, and said:

            “What?”

            “I want to free one of the occupied Balmeras. _Before_ it collapses. The Balmerans there deserve to live free, and maybe… Maybe at least some of the Balmerans from my planet could live there too. Or at least visit a place that feels like home.”

            “Hunk, I—”

            “It would be worth your while,” he continued, his heart pounding. “Balmera crystals are valuable. They could power your ships, your defense systems. You could trade them for GAC. A couple battleship class crystals were enough to power the entire Galra mining—”

            “Hunk, stop,” Lance said, putting up a hand. Hunk’s mouth fell shut. “Look, I’ll bring up the idea to Pa’lam, but they won’t go for it. Maybe, if we could convince the Blade of Marmora to back us up…”

            “What is the Blade of Marmora?”

            “A faction of Galra in rebellion against the Empire. But I don’t think—”

            “There are Galra working _against_ the Empire?” Hunk asked, his jaw dropping. The Galra had always appeared as one smoothly running machine, immune to internal dissent, thinking with one mind.

            “Some, yeah,” Lance said. “Listen, I’ll talk to Pa’lam, but please don’t get your hopes up, okay?” Hunk dropped his head.

            “Okay,” he said. “I just want us to have somewhere that seems like home,” he mumbled. He jumped when he felt Lance’s hand on his arm. He looked up and met his eyes.

            “I understand,” Lance said. “Stars above, I understand. And I’ll do what I can to make it happen. I promise.” Slowly, Hunk nodded. Lance let go of his arm. “I’ll come by this evening and tell you what they say,” he said. “For now, get ready to leave.”

            Wren squinted at him curiously when he trudged his way back into their room, but didn’t comment on his absence. There wasn’t really that much to do to prepare to leave: they hadn’t owned much besides the clothes on their backs in the mines, and could take even less with them when they left. Mel bounced Lyr’s daughter on her knee and hummed softly. Mert and Hyl sat in the corner, quiet, simply holding each other’s hands. Hunk tried to contain his nervousness, resisting the urge to pace, stilling his hands whenever he caught them tapping his knees.

            It got so late he’d almost given up hope of Lance coming back when there was a quiet rap on the door. He vaulted to his feet before any of the others could get up and pulled the door open a crack. When he saw Lance in the hallway, he edged outside and shut the door behind him. He turned with hope in his eyes, but Lance was shaking his head.

            “Sorry, big guy,” he said. “Pa’lam says it’s not worth the risk to our forces.” Hunk crossed his arms.

            “Did you explain that the Balmeran crystals—?”

            “I did. They know. They’re just not interested. We’ve gotten by fine without Balmeran crystals up to now, and they don’t think the risk is worth it.” Lance paused, and something Hunk didn’t understand glinted in his eyes. “But I do,” he said. Hunk blinked.

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “I think if there’s a way we could sneak onto a Balmera, steal a couple crystals – maybe we could prove to the rebels it’s worth launching a full-scale attack.” Hunk put up his hands to show his confusion.

            “But… if the rebel soldiers won’t attack…” Understanding dawned and his mouth dropped open. “You are planning to sneak onto a Balmera and steal crystals from the Galra _by yourself_?” he asked.

            “Well, I thought you might want to come with me,” he said, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. “Up for a little undercover rebel action?”

            “Balmerans have never fought,” he said automatically. “This one does not know how. None of us know how.”

            “Well, I’m hoping to avoid _fighting_ , mostly,” he answered, frowning. “But you know way more about Balmeras than I do, and about how the Galra operate there. I’m hoping you can help guide me through safely.” He pulled a blaster from his belt and grinned. “I can do the shooting if it comes to that.”

            “I… I do not know if this is a good idea…” Hunk mumbled.

            “You made me think last night,” Lance said quietly. He stuck his gun back in its holster. “About a lot of things. About what I’m hoping to do here. I joined the rebels because, well, because it seemed like the only logical course of action. But I want to do more than just walk around and flash my cheek marks at people. If I’m not any more than a figurehead, I really _should_ have died fighting Zarkon 10,000 years ago. I want to do more than that. I _need_ to do more than that.” He met Hunk’s eyes. “Besides, I promised you to do whatever I can. Will you help me?”

            Hunk swallowed, feeling like his entire stomach might come up through his mouth, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said. The grin came back, splitting Lance’s face in two.

            “Awesome,” he said. “Come on. I know who can give us a ship.”

            Hunk followed reluctantly as Lance snuck down the dark corridors of the rebel base. He led him into a passage none of the Balmerans had entered, entering a deserted hangar. The ships loomed overhead, daunting monsters in the shadows. Near the back of the hangar, a dim yellow light shone out of the window of an engineer’s shop. Hunk could hear someone singing off-key. Lance rapped on the door, and the singing stopped. The door slid open to reveal a tall alien. For a moment, his purple coloring made Hunk stumble back, afraid he was Galra, but his eyes, the strands of white hair escaping under his hat, and the stubble peppering his chin instead of fur all belied that impression. He grinned at Lance, leaning against the door with languid ease.

            “Looks like I’ve got high and mighty company this evening,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

            “Hey, Rolo,” Lance said. “This is my friend Hunk. We need to borrow a ship.” Rolo nodded at Hunk.

            “Pleased to meet ya,” he said. “Heard there were a bunch of Balmerans running around these past few brolls. People don’t generally make it down here to visit my shop, though.” Hunk shifted, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

            “This one is also pleased to meet you,” he said eventually. “We Balmerans have attempted to stay out of the way of the rebel operations.” Rolo laughed.

            “Wasn’t trying to antagonize you, kid. What kind of ship do you two need?”

            “Something big enough to carry Balmeran crystals in,” Lance said. The smile dropped from Rolo’s face.

            “And where do you think you’ll be getting Balmeran crystals?” he asked. His words were slower and deeper now.

            “From a Balmera,” Lance answered blithely.

            “You trying to go on a suicide mission?”

            “We’re trying to convince Pa’lam that saving a Balmera would be in the rebels’ best interests.” Rolo shook his head.

            “You’re crazy, kid. I don’t know what it was like 10,000 years ago, but trust me, if you fly into a Galra colony you come out dead or captured. No exceptions.”

            “Not if I can blend in,” Lance said. Something in his tone made the edges of his voice sharp, with humor or with impatience, Hunk couldn’t tell. But suddenly Lance seemed to be stretching, growing taller beside him, his skin changing until it was that particular purple shade Hunk hated so much. He stared. He’d heard stories about Altean shapeshifting abilities, but it was disconcerting to see it in person. Lance did still look much like Lance, his hair still white and his cheek marks still glowing blue, but a soldier’s helmet could hide that. Rolo shook his head again.

            “I’m not sure if you’re brave _and_ stupid, or just stupid,” he said. “But I know you’re bullheaded enough that you’re going through with this no matter what I say about it.” He stepped outside of the room and walked to a panel embedded in the wall. He typed a combination into it, and suddenly the hangars door opened, pulling back slowly. A rush of chill night air made Hunk catch his breath. “Take that little transport jet, three ships in on the left,” Rolo said, jerking his thumb towards the front of the hangar. “Sturdy enough to carry a crystal but small and speedy enough to give you half a fool’s chance.” Lance grinned.

            “Thanks, Rolo,” he said. “I owe you one.” Rolo rolled his eyes.

            “I think we’re up to about twenty, now,” he said. “But I’ll just add it to the tab.” Lance laughed, and then grabbed Hunk’s arm and pulled him along.

            “Do you know how to fly this ship?” he asked, panic pounding in his chest. Lance shrugged.

            “Not this one specifically, but I learned to fly all sorts of ships as a prince. I can figure most things out.” Hunk swallowed, suddenly regretting every single bite of his dinner.

            “If you say so,” he squeaked.

            It turned out, Lance really did know what he was doing in the pilot’s chair, but that didn’t prevent Hunk from emptying his stomach into a vacuum bag when they jerked into a warp jump. The motion was a lot more extreme on a tiny two-seater transport jet than on the massive passenger ship that had brought the Balmerans to the rebel base. Lance wrinkled his nose at Hunk, who clutched the bag to his mouth, embarrassment and nausea making his heart pound uncomfortably against his ribs. He waved off Hunk’s apology, though, saying it wasn’t his fault he’d never been on a small ship before. “You’ll get used to it,” he laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. “Or, well, I guess, maybe you won’t. Whether this works or not, you’re probably planning to spend the rest of your life quietly on one planet, right?” Another wave of nausea hit him at that moment, and he didn’t have time to reply.

            They came out of the warp jump a just above the Balmera, and Lance slowed down, letting them drift toward it. Hunk stared at it, his heart pounding erratically. He tried to silence the small voice in the back of his head that was insistently chanting “home.”

            “I picked a Balmera fairly far on the outskirts of the Empire,” Lance said quietly. “I’m hoping that it should be less heavily guarded, and that if we do get, er, caught, that a military response will take longer, which might give us a chance to escape.” Hunk looked over at Lance and frowned.

            “The Empire does not know you are alive, do they?”

            “No-o-ope,” Lance said. He laughed nervously. “And I’d like to keep it that way. A reunion with Zarkon would probably suck. Be really awkward for both of us. The Galra were always terrible at hors d’oeuvres.”

            “I have no idea what hors d’oeuvres are,” Hunk said. Lance snorted.

            “That’s because you were under Galra control and the Galra don’t want you to know how much they suck at them,” he said.

            “Is it a military tactic?” he asked hesitantly. Lance’s hands stalled on the controls, and abruptly he slumped over them, making a sound like a shriek of pain.

            “Lance!” Hunk shouted in alarm, reaching for him. Lance was quivering, his entire body shaking, and when Hunk pulled one of his arms away, there were tears in his eyes. “Lance, what is wrong?” Lance made a flapping motion with his arm. Incomprehensible sounds were still coming out of his mouth, but they were shifting from sounding like shrieks to sound like… laughter?

            Lance swiped away the tears with the back of his hand, sucking in a deep breath, but then abruptly collapsed into belly-shaking laughs again. Hunk sat back, crossing his arms and glaring, which only made Lance laugh harder. “I thought you were hurt,” he muttered accusingly. Lance flapped his hand at him again, struggling for breath.

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Oh, stars, Hunk, I’m sorry, I just— _military hors d’oeuvres_ —” He dissolved into another fit of giggles. He finally managed to stop and caught his breath, rubbing tears out of his eyes. “Oh, stars above, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” he chuckled. “No, I’m sorry, I was making a really dumb joke and you took it seriously and I—” He stifled another snort and took a deep breath, trying to school his face back to stillness. “I swear I’m not laughing at you, it was just— Stars, I can’t even explain it. Hors d’oeuvres are food, it was such a stupid joke, _quiznak_.”

            “I’m… sorry?” Hunk said, turning it into a question. Lance shook his head frantically.

            “Please never apologize for that ever,” he said. “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Hunk nodded uncertainly.

            “Okay,” he said. “If you say so.” Lance sighed, shuddering with one last chuckle, and turned his attention back to the controls.

            “ _Anyway_ ,” he said. “We don’t have any cloaking technology, but I’m hoping we can just kind of sneak in and—”

            “Unidentified craft, please provide your identification code,” a voice said over their radio. Lance’s hands stalled on the controls.

            “Oh, quiznak,” he said.

            A massive mining transport hovered in front of them. The commander’s quarters were probably bigger than the entire little jet Hunk and Lance were in.

            “Unidentified craft, please provide your identification code,” the voice said again.

            “Uh, sorry, we just got lost,” Lance said into the microphone. “We’ll just, uh, be on our way. Sorry to bother you.” He cringed.

            “Unidentified craft, land immediately,” the voice ordered.

            “Alright, will do,” Lance said. He switched off the radio and looked at Hunk. “I really hope you’re done vomiting,” he said, and dove straight toward the Balmera surface.

            Hunk clung to the sides of the seats, screaming like he had never screamed before. Two Galra fighter jets dropped out of the mining transport and followed them. Lance pulled up so sharply that Hunk could feel gravity shifting, driving his body back into the seat. He bobbed and weaved through the metal skeletons of Galra mining equipment. One of the fighter jets misjudged a turn and tore off a wing, spiraling down to the ground. Lance yanked one of the controls and suddenly the ship shot backward, sending two of the fighter jets past it. One crashed straight into a crane and crumpled against it. Lance spun the jet in place and took off forward again. Hunk was still screaming, every muscle pressing back desperately into the seat. Lance spiraled up into the sky, came back down, and swung in a large arc through an almost impossibly dense field of metal, but could not seem to shake the last two fighters.

            “Hang on,” he said grimly. “I have an idea.” He feinted upward, and then at the last moment dove straight down a mining shaft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning to get these stories done in one chapter and they keep turning into cliffhangers instead
> 
> Time glossary:  
> second = tick  
> minute = dobash  
> hour = varga  
> day = quintant  
> week = broll*  
> month = cycle*  
> year = year  
> decade = decapheeb
> 
> *my own invention
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! You know I love kudos and comments if you care to leave them <3


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